Wallflower
by Chef's Special
Summary: Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she'd never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. timetravel. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle
1. A Devastating Aftermath

**Wallflower **

******Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

So this is a new story that I've been itching to write. It's fem!Harry, something I've never written before, so take it easy. The story takes place after Dory (named after her paternal grandmother) defeated Voldemort. Depressing as it may sound, death will be a central topic in this story, simply because I believe not a person in the world can deal with such a big number of deaths.

Happy reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, all rights belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling!

* * *

**A Devastating Aftermath**

_"Kill the spare," a cold, high voice spoke from high above her. _

"No, no, Cedric!"

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

* * *

_Bellatrix Lestrange cackled loudly and a surprised, maybe even scared, look crossed her godfather's face as he looked at his insane cousin. He fell through the veil, which flickered for a moment as though in a high wind and then moved back into place. _

She whimpered quietly in her sleep.

_"Sirius is dead!" she cried. "He's dead, dead, dead!"_

* * *

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_A blast of green light shot from Snape's wand, hitting Dumbledore squarely in the middle of his chest. _

* * *

_"Hello, Minister! Did I mention I'm resigning?"_

_"You're joking, Perce! You're actually joking… I don't think I've heard you joke since you were –"_

_A deafening explosion thundered through the air and suddenly she felt herself flying backwards. Clutching her wand with all her might and holding her arms above her head, she braced herself for the landing. When it did happen, a sharp pain pierced her back and lights flashed around her head. _

_"No, no, no!" someone shouted. "No! Fred! No!"_

"No…" she moaned.

* * *

_They looked so peaceful, she thought as she gazed upon Remus and Tonks, it was almost as if they were sleeping… _

* * *

_"Not Dory, please no, kill me instead –"_

_"This is my last warning –"_

_"Not Dory! Please… have mercy… not Dory! Not Dory! Please – I'll do anything…"_

_"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" _

_ A jet of green light caused Lily Potter to drop to the ground, like a marionette whose strings were cut._

* * *

Dory woke up with a start, breathing heavily and body soaked with sweat. Blinking tiredly, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and rubbed the sides of her face.

The door cracked. Alarmed, Dory looked up from her hands and immediately reached out to grab her wand. She relaxed slightly when she saw who the intruder was.

"Are you all right, Dorea?" Andromeda's worried voice asked from the doorway, "I heard you scream."

Awkwardly trying to hide the wand behind her back, she shot the other woman a reassuring smile.

"Yeah," she rasped. "Yeah, fine."

Lips curling downwards, Andromeda eased herself down next to Dory and took in her appearance. "You don't look fine."

The woman's physical resemblance to Bellatrix never ceased to amaze Dory, and although she _knew _Dromeda was the polar opposite of her sister, she couldn't help but hold it against her. Especially in the moonlight pouring through the window, her eyes seemed harder and her hair darker than ever. Therefore, Dory's tone was quite rude when she spoke, "I said I am _fine_."

Andromeda's nod was curt and swift, but she didn't rise from the bed as Dory expected her to do. Instead, a long, tense silence fell upon the two.

"I've never told you, but you look exactly like your grandmother," Dromeda broke the quiet.

"Sorry?" Dory asked, green eyes brightening. Her late family, save Lily and James, were a complete mystery to her – she would love to hear about them. "How do you know? Everybody always tells me I look like my dad."

Abandoning her wand, she crawled backwards and crossed her legs, briefly enjoying the way the silk of her pyjamas brushed her skin. Plopping her chin on her knuckles, she watched the other woman, eager expectation written on her face.

"And James looked like Dorea," said Dromeda. Seeing Dory's confused look, she continued, "Your grandmother was called Dorea, Dorea Black to be precise."

"Black?" Dory gaped.

Dromeda hummed affirmatively. "By some strange arrangement, Dorea Black was my great-aunt."

Dory let out a long breath, her chest falling and rising rapidly as she absorbed this new information. "Wow," she whispered. "But that means we're cousins! And Sirius too!"

"Second cousins, yes." Dromeda nodded, absentmindedly fingering her wedding band. "Most pureblood families are related in some way… inbreeding wasn't uncommon, especially not in the Black family. It still happens, actually. That's probably the reason most Blacks die so young, even when the death is by natural cause."

Dory's nose crinkled at the thought of inbreeding.

"Your grandmother died of old age, because fifty seven _was _an old age, for the Black family at least."

"What was she like? My grandmother?"

"Very sweet," Dromeda replied, "but still a Black. She truly loved Charlus, your grandfather, but if he hadn't been a pureblood, she would have refused to marry him."

"Charlus…" she echoed. "And my father didn't have any siblings, right?"

"No," came the reply, "James was completely doted upon by his parents, especially Dorea. She didn't particularly like Lily though."

"Because my mum was a Muggle-born?" Dory guessed.

"Yes, partly," Dromeda said, but didn't elaborate any further.

Comprehending she wouldn't get the complete answer, Dory went on, "And Charlus, what was he like?"

Andromeda's heavy-lidded eyes closed for a moment. "After I was… disowned, I didn't have a lot of contact with my family," she eventually said, "I talked to them at diners and balls, but that was when I was younger. I don't remember it very well. Dorea however, she made quite an impression and charmed everyone around her – I won't forget her any time soon."

"Diners and balls? That sounds all very… pureblood."

"And it most certainly is," Dromeda agreed, daintily crossing her legs. Dory envied how effortlessly elegant she looked at the moment, even in the middle of the night. Just out of bed and not an ounce of makeup on her face, she still looked like an upper-class belle. "Do you want some Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

"I'm not tired," Dory said, shaking her head. She looked over to her clock. Four in the morning. "Why are _you _up actually?"

"I don't sleep a lot," Dromeda replied, laughter prevalent in her voice. "Of course he can't do anything about it, but it's rather unfortunate for me that Teddy makes the strangest noises in his sleep."

The girl laughed with her, smiling fondly as she pictured her currently green-haired godson.

"Ron snores really loudly," she said.

Her grin quickly turned into a sad frown at the thought of her red-haired friend. It was if Dory had become a bother to them since Ron and Hermione had admitted their amorous feelings for each other. Although it had happened slowly and almost unconsciously, a small barrier had begun to separate them.

She hated the secret glances, the hidden smiles and the small touches. She hadn't expected that Ron and Hermione's new relationship would cause her to feel so… so – jealous? Disappointed? Disgusted? Being the third wheel in their friendship distressed her greatly, mostly because the three of them had been best friends since they were teeny-tiny first years, and although she was close enough with Ginny, Neville and Luna, they hadn't been _there_.

She felt hurt.

She felt lonely, she realized.

Andromeda's face stretched into a knowing smile. "Everything will be all right," she spoke gently and stood up, ready to leave.

Dory picked up the wand from the Egyptian cotton pillow beside her and absentmindedly toyed with it.

"Dromeda?" she called when the woman reached the threshold.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for having me here, I really appreciate it," she said sincerely.

Andromeda didn't turn around, but she did halt and Dory perceived a ghost of a smile on her face. That smile was so warm, so touched, that Dory was absolutely sure there wasn't a chance in the world that Dromeda was anything like the sister she resembled so much.

* * *

"It's unbelievable," George muttered, more to himself than to Dory.

"It is," she agreed.

"It's imbecile."

"Absolutely."

"You would say I'm incompetent."

Leaning casually against the doorway, Dory uncrossed her arms and laughed. "I wouldn't say that, George."

She watched with rapt, amused eyes as George stood in front of a Tuscan, full-length mirror, cluelessly trying to fathom how to fasten the black tie that was hanging unhelpfully around his neck.

He turned to Dory, looking at her with pleading eyes.

"C'mere," she murmured.

He watched her as she slowly started knotting the tie; she felt his eyes on her. Eyes that had hardened, darkened, but most of al, saddened. Fred's death had hit him so hard and Dory knew George would never completely accept the passing of his other half.

She missed Fred, too.

And Remus… and she still had to blink away the tears as Dobby crossed her mind – _The elf's light green eyes found her own as he, with all his strength, squeaked his last words, "Dory… Potter…"_

Swallowing thickly, she patted the tie, "There it is." She forced a smile and looked up at George. "Are you ready?"

George, uncharacteristically nervous, was getting prepared for a business meeting with Zonko, owner of Zonko's Joke Shop, to finally round off Weasley's Wizard Wheezes acquisition of the Zonko's premises, so that they could open a second store. After months of quiet mourning in his – _Fred and George's _– room, the Weasley family had convinced him to go out and do something, to seek some distraction. Now, almost four months after the Battle of Hogwarts, George was slowly but surely getting his life back on track. He continued to run Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, with Ron's help, and the shop was more successful than ever.

"We'll have to wait for Ron," he said, falling down onto the bed. "How's living with Andromeda?"

"Really nice," Dory responded, glancing at her reflection. Translucently pale, deep bags under her eyes and skin unattractively dull – she almost didn't recognize the girl in the mirror. "It's nice to be around Teddy, and Dromeda is amazing."

"You won't be returning to Hogwarts, then?"

Dory dropped down next to him, a troubled frown creasing her forehead. "I do have all the books, and I want to go, really, but…"

"You've outgrown fulltime education, clearly," George said lightly, "Maybe you should test your talents professionally. I bet the Auror Department is impatiently waiting for you to start your training." He exhaled an exaggerated sigh and dramatically placed his hand on his forehead. "Oh, woe is them, mighty Aurors, how will they ever do without Dorea Potter?"

"Is it wrong to say I'm done fighting?" she asked, covering her eyes with the palms of her hands and tiredly rubbing them.

Just as George was about to reply, Ron entered the room, looking very ruffled and hasted.

"I'm here!" he panted, hands on his knees as he breathed in and out. He wiped his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his robes before asking rhetorically, "Who knew it was so bloody difficult to fasten a tie?"

George shot Dory an impish grin – she sniggered back, "Still brothers, eh?"

* * *

"How are you doing, mate?" Ron asked her casually, hands buried in his pockets.

She hated how nonchalant he sounded, as if nothing was wrong and she wasn't the third wheel in their yearlong friendship. _Maybe it's just a phase_, Dory tried to convince herself, _yeah, just a phase_.

"Fine," she said, her tone unintentionally curt. "How are you and Hermione?"

You and Hermione.

Ron and Hermione, the new union, Dory thought bitterly.

"Great," Ron replied, looking away uneasily, suddenly very interested in Andromeda's lace curtains. "So, eh, I'd better go – I'll say goodbye to George."

He hugged her, awkwardly patting her back, and hurriedly left the room, leaving Dory standing there with a sad little frown on her face.

They probably wouldn't even miss her if she left.

* * *

**A/N: **So, that's a start! Continue-worthy?


	2. Dorea's Discovery

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**Dorea's Discovery **

It was as if a huge wave of moral panic was flowing through England – panic about every form of aggression, whether it was verbal or physical. Nobody wanted to be reminded of the horrible tragedies of the war. Even though happiness mostly dominated – hadn't Voldemort finally been defeated, after all? –, there was an underlying sadness that permeated every witch and wizard.

Sadness and fear plodded fruitlessly through the sea of celebrators like an ubiquitous spook, carrying an intense, overwhelming grief with him. Because Voldemort's death hadn't been just _his_. Yes, he was gone, but his downfall had also been the end of many innocent lives. People who died fighting for the Light.

Light, Dory wondered, what was Light? Did Light actually exist? Even Albus Dumbledore, and his name meant _white_, hadn't been entirely 'light'. What _was _Light? Could somebody be possibly purely Light?

"Knut for your thoughts?"

Andromeda stood behind her, a softly cooing Teddy in her arms.

"It's nothing," she replied automatically. She turned towards the little four-month-old baby, smiling brightly. "Hello there, big man."

Dromeda gingerly handed her Teddy and Dory, just as careful, took him, placing him lovingly on her lap. He gurgled happily, holding up his arms and tangling his fingers.

"He grows up so fast," the older woman said dotingly, easing herself down on the pale pink armchair in front of Dory. A little line appeared between her eyes as she looked at the photo on the mantelpiece. Dory followed her line of sight; a mousy-haired, dark-eyed Tonks was enthusiastically waving at them, a radiant grin on her surprisingly natural face. "I can just remember the day he was born… she would have been so proud."

"She _is _proud," Dory said strongly.

Dromeda responded with a small, somewhat pitying, smile. "Of course," she said, her tone dismissive.

A bit irked, Dory wanted to retort, but a gentle tug at her hair stopped her from doing so. She looked down at Teddy, who seemed to be incredibly fascinated with her hair and was curiously chewing on one of the black locks.

"Teddy! – that's icky," she chastised laughingly, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

She glanced at Dromeda, but the woman had completely missed the whole scene, as she was staring nostalgically at another photo on the mantelpiece, next to the waving Tonks. It was a family portrait, she noted. Andromeda, radiantly beautiful at younger age, was standing next to her husband, thinner and less grey-haired than Dory remembered him. A young pink-haired girl, undoubtedly Tonks, grinned rascally up at him.

"Are you all right?" she asked tentatively. The war and the number of deaths it had caused were a generally avoided subject in the house. Only recently Dromeda had started sleeping in the master bedroom again, but Dory knew it was still impossibly hard for her to accept her husband's sudden death.

With a startling quickness, Dromeda's expression morphed from wistful to bone-chillingly cold, almost as if it was practiced.

"You haven't been to the library yet, am I right?" she said unexpectedly.

"You actually have a library?"

Dromeda waved a slim, pale hand. "Not a library, really, more a room with a lot of books, but still…" she said frankly and heaved herself up. A smile stretched her face as she directed her gaze at her grandson. "And you, sweetheart, are going to bed – it's unbelievable how little he sleeps."

Teddy, for once, cooperatively lifted his arms, allowing Dromeda to pick him up from Dory's lap.

"I'll be right back."

Dory watched the pair leave before a letter on the coffee table caught her eyes. She had read over and over since its arrival a few days ago, but the thin, angular letters still managed to make her squirm.

_Dear Dorea,_

_If it is convenient for you, I would like to meet you at the Three Broomsticks this coming Friday at ten A.M. to discuss your plans for the next school year. From there I will escort you to the school, where we can talk privately._

_Kindly send your answer by return of this owl,_

_Your sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

She honestly didn't know if she wanted to go back – starting all over again sounded like music to her ears, but Hogwarts had been her first and only real home, and going back to get her NEWTs was obviously a smarter thing to do (as Hermione had pointed out quite a few times). Scrunching her eyebrows together, she placed the letter back on the coffee table and silently waited for Andromeda to come back.

"Are you coming?" the woman asked, sweepingly entering the living room.

Dory arched her eyebrows in disbelieve. "He's already sleeping?" She rose from her seat on the couch and followed the other woman to the hallway.

"I'm just as surprised," Dromeda said, leading Dory through a door she hadn't entered before. The atmosphere was different here, she noticed, it was colder, darker. Goosebumps covered her arms and chills ran down her spine as they neared a marble staircase, the only sounds that could be heard their sepulchral footsteps on the black-and-white checkerboard floor.

They ascended the stairs, and she asked herself why Dromeda hadn't showed her this part when she had given Dory a tour around the house. It was a bit weird, she thought suspiciously, did Andromeda have some big secret for her?

She almost bumped into Dromeda when she unexpectedly stood still and murmured, "Here it is… I haven't been here in such a long time."

In her hand was a key which she turned in the lock of a grand, mahogany door. It creaked open and she stepped into the room, staying put for a moment as Dory waited behind her. When Dromeda eventually did enter, Dory went after her, only to be overwhelmed by a jungle of leaf gold and a myriad of different shades of brown. Dromeda had been right – it wasn't exactly library, but for lack of a better word, library suited just fine. A single torch burned, illuminating walls, entirely covered with shelves brimmed with books, scrolls of woody parchment, multicoloured potion bottles and a strange assortment of objects that strongly reminded Dory of Grimmauld Place.

"I married Ted when I was twenty," Dromeda's voice broke the silence, "Unlike Sirius, I was an adult and had already moved out of the house by then, so I was allowed to keep all my possessions when I was burned off the Family Tree."

The room itself wasn't that big at all, but the ominous, magnifying feeling it seemed to emit made the room appear mysteriously large. Dory was sucked in. Her eyes hungrily examined the walls around her, absolutely awed by the beauty of it all.

"It's amazing," she breathed, her fingers lingering on the back of an ancient-looking book.

"I always liked to say this was my room," Dromeda said. "I used to come here almost everyday, before Voldemort returned to power…"

Dory was hardly listening; her travelling eyes had focused on a particular shelf, labelled _Black_. She stretched her neck and stood on her tiptoes to get a closer look, and finally the flickering light licked around a bend, where –

"Is that a Time-Turner?"

The mosaic-tiled floor clipped and echoed as Dromeda walked to stand beside her. Being a good few inches longer than Dory, she effortlessly grabbed the object and loosely curled her fingers around it.

It wasn't a Time-Turner, but it could be easily mistaken for one. However, it lacked a chain and whereas the Time-Turner had been golden, the tiny contraption in Dromeda's hands seemed to be made out of some sort of silver. The miniature hourglass, which did resemble the Time-Turner's, was encircled by a grey-white ring. Taking a closer look, Dory saw it was decorated with minuscule, cursively written words.

_Time, as emulous as he is, lends minutes and charges for years. Don't you dare to misuse me. _

"No, it isn't," Dromeda said. "When we were younger – Bellatrix, Narcissa and I –, we tried spinning the hourglass. Nothing happened. It's very dark magic though, most Black family heirlooms and possessions are."

She handed the small device over to Dory, who examined it closely.

"It's platinum," the woman continued to explain. "Quite beautiful, no?"

"_Don't you dare to misuse me_," Dory repeated. "It must do _something_."

Nodding in agreement, Dromeda glanced at slim, hazel-coloured watch that adorned her wrist, and concluded, "It's eleven o'clock, we should go back downstairs – you have an appointment tomorrow, am I right?"

"Yeah," Dory replied affirmatively, remembering Professor's McGonagall's letter from a few days ago."Tomorrow at ten."

Andromeda turned around, ready to leave. Dory looked down at the Time-Turner look-a-like in her hands and bit her lip in consideration. _Would Dromeda notice?_ There were hundreds of objects in this room, would she truly miss one? She just wanted to find out what it was. She could always put it back later. _Yeah_, she thought, in that way she wouldn't exactly steal it, right? She would just… borrow it.

Vigilantly watching Dromeda's back, she discreetly slipped it into the pocket of her jeans and walked to the door with light but quick steps.

* * *

"I will be home soon, sweetheart," she whispered to Teddy, who was being held by Andromeda. Dory caressed the back of his little head; the soft baby hair tickled her fingers. "And don't look at me like that."

He continued to gaze up at her, looking on the verge of tears.

Sometimes she thought Teddy knew exactly what kind of power those huge, wet eyes of his had.

"You should go," Dromeda advised. "Minerva isn't exactly a woman who likes to wait."

"You're right," Dory mumbled, dashing over to the fireplace. She grabbed a handful of Floo powder out of the pot on the left side of the mantelpiece and tossed the floury substance onto the flames. Crouching down low, she stepped into the green fire and yelled as clearly as she could, "The Three Broomsticks!"

The emerald-green flames engulfed her and the dreadful sickness she always felt when travelling by Floo overwhelmed her. She kept her eyes tightly closed and her feet firmly planted on the ground as she spun faster and faster. When she finally slowed down and opened her eyes, she found herself looking at the crowded, smoky pub known as the Three Broomsticks.

"Hullo, Dory!" Madam Rosmerta greeted cheerily, a tray with more Butterbeers than Dory could count perched on it dangerously balancing on her fingertips. "Can I get you something?"

Dory glanced over to the wooden-framed, train station clock hanging above the bar. Ten to ten. "Just a Butterbeer, please."

"I'll be there in a minute – have a seat," Rosmerta said, scuttling away towards a group of men. They hollered and whistled when they saw her approach.

Smiling slightly at the stern but flustered look on Rosmerta's face, Dory sat down. She picked up the Daily Prophet that had been laid on the table and scanned the headlines. The news was so perfectly, ridiculously normal – _Horrible floo powder accident in Diagon Alley, House prices rise in Hogsmeade, Felix Fawcett wins Magic Lottery! _and _Who will teach us to defend against the Dark Arts now?_

She wondered if the jinx on the teacher post had lifted now Voldemort was dead. A permanent D.A.D.A. teacher, that sounded as odd as Draco Malfoy dancing around in a tutu.

Smirking slightly at the thought, she folded it again and waited for her Butterbeer.

"One Butterbeer for Miss Potter," Rosmerta smiled, placing the drink on the table before dashing off to another customer.

Dory impatiently waited for Professor McGonagall, shifty eyes flying to the clock every three seconds. Absolutely, utterly bored, she pulled the platinum device she had _borrowed _from Dromeda out of her pocket, scrutinizing the engraving again. _Time, as emulous as he is, lends minutes and charges for years. Don't you dare to misuse me. _

How could it be misused, if it didn't even have a function?

Absentmindedly, she began to toy with it, occassianally glimpsing at the door, and turned the hourglass over a few times.

Suddenly, Dory felt as though she was flying very fast, backward. Her ears were pounding, her eyes sightless and she wanted to scream, but couldn't hear her own voice –

And then, everything came to a halt.

* * *

**A/N: Aaaaaand, the story begins… **


	3. 1977

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**1977**

How could it be so quiet? Moments ago there had been nothing but noise, crashing and tearing and _screaming_, now quiet.

Silence, filled with a soft cry now she was awake, as she pulled in air.

Opening her eyes, she found herself looking at a clear night sky, which was brilliantly lit by an arch of flickering stars. It was snowing; thick pelts were falling silently on her face, biting and smarting her skin. She closed her eyes again as a tiny drop of snow blinded her right eye, just lying there still, hoping this was all a dream and when she would reopen her eyes, she would be sitting at her table in the Three Broomsticks, accompanied by a Butterbeer and a Daily Prophet. Maybe Professor McGonagall would be already waiting there, watching her sternly over the top of her square spectacles.

Sadly, none of this seemed the be true. When she looked up for the second time, the dark, starry sky hadn't changed at all. She tried to move, but pain hammered into her and made her breath shorten into gasps.

She just wanted… to close her eyes, to _sleep_, dreamless, deep and down.

No.

Clenching her fists in determination, she raised herself, ignoring the sharp pain in her legs, arms, back – everywhere. She had survived so much, she wasn't going to stop here. But bloody hell, her legs were on fire and her forehead felt as though somebody had been pounding on it with a bat. There was a keening throb that pulsed with every beat of her heart and it really bloody _hurt_.

She crawled to the end of the alley, grunting with the effort, and managed to come to a sitting position, scrunched sideways with her back leaning against the cobblestone wall.

What had happened? Why was she outside? Why was it so dark? And why did it _snow_? It had been July!

She turned her head to look around, wincing slightly at the new ache it brought. She was still in Hogsmeade, it seemed. She could distinguish the Three Broomsticks' unmistakable shape on the other side of the road. Its stained-glass windows were glowing bright and she could hear a lot of boisterous laughing and talking from the people inside – _what was going on_?

Now some of the sharp pain had abated, she dared to stand up. Her eyebrows furrowed as an unexpected dizziness overwhelmed her and caused her to stumble. She balled her fists; she hated feeling this weak.

Shaking her head, she tried to refocus.

The Time-Turner!

Panicked, she scanned the ground, heaving a sigh of relief as her eyes caught on a small black dot, contrasting sharply against white snow. With painful footsteps she toddled towards it and cautiously picked it up, her face a mask of pure horror as her shocked, wide eyes stared at the small device in her hands.

So it _had _been a Time-Turner, she thought, it had to be. But she still didn't understand why it was snowing... Didn't Time-Turners allow a limited time of time travel? She remembered that she and Hermione could only go back a few hours, and that had been a maximum.

Back straight and knees strong, she headed towards the Three Broomsticks, each step made quiet by the falling snow. The frosty air, heavy with icy particles, stung her face as she crossed the street. The cold wind wrapped itself around her exposed arms, cutting her like a many bladed knife and squeezing her bones. She quickened her steps, eyes longingly aimed at the warm pub. _So cold_. It was _so _cold.

When she had reached the door, she briefly stamped the snow off her sneakers and entered the pub, leaving a pale puff of smoke behind her.

The room was filled with people, but she didn't see any familiar faces. They watched her as she walked by, curiously eyeing her attire – a simple shirt and a pair of jeans. _Can't blame them,_ she thought, shivering violently.

"Not very smart, eh?" a grumpy voice told her.

It was an old man of about seventy-five years of age. He was badly preserved, with crooked, yellow teeth, wrinkled skin and a bristling grey beard.

"I – I'm fine," Dory said, trying to keep her chattering teeth still.

"Rosmerta, go get a blanket!" the man yelled at a dim figure behind the bar. The person immediately did as told, rushing towards the kitchen.

_Rosmerta? _Dory thought, bewildered. She didn't know Madam Rosmerta all that well, but she never took her for a person who obeys orders so… easily.

"Don't you have a coat or something?"

Flushing from the attention she was getting, Dory mumbled, "I – err - I'm still having a little trouble Apparating." That sounded somewhat plausible.

The man shot her a wary look, but before she could reply, 'Rosmerta' had returned, a baby blue blanket and a very comfortable-looking jumper in her hands.

Dory's eyes went as wide as Galleons. Madam Rosmerta was standing in front of her, indeed, but at the same time this person couldn't possibly be Madam Rosmerta. This – this _girl _was in her mid-twenties, with ash brown hair down to her shoulders, the bouncy ringlets curling around a pretty face. Her skin was wrinkle-free and she had a healthy blush colouring the cheeks, so unlike the Rosmerta she knew.

_But _–

Unpleasantly surprised, Dory's mouth dropped open. No, no, no… this wasn't possible.

The Time-Turner, suddenly much heavier than before, seemed to burn a hole in her hand. She felt nauseous and a raw gut-wrenching, chest-tightening feeling washed over her. Couldn't life just be normal for once? Why hadn't she just left that stupid thing on the shelf? Why did she have to be so bloody curious?

"I –" she began, but her ability to form any coherent words was lost.

Rosmerta, or the much younger version of her, waved her hand in front of Dory's face. "Are you all right?"

Swallowing painfully, she said, "I'm fine." Her voice sounded like sandpaper.

That was when the panic kicked in. She had been stunned, had been stopped with the terror of what was happening, but now panic came and she realized she didn't have _anything_. No clean clothes, no Hermione to help her out, no Ron to cheer her up – just the two Galleons and three sickles in her back pocket. That was it.

Rosmerta handed her the blanket and the jumper and Dory took it gratefully, her thoughts still an incomprehensible jumbled mess.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Firewhiskey," she replied instantaneously.

"Rough night?" Rosmerta said sympathetically, ushering her towards a table in the corner, near the fireplace.

Dory let out a weary sigh, slouching jadedly in her wooden chair.

"You can say that," she said, completely exhausted. She was so awfully tired. Mentally, that is. But right now she had to focus; she needed a plan. "Do you have the Prophet?"

"I'll be right back," Rosmerta said affably, repeating her words from… a lot of years later. She waited till Dory had put on the jumper and retired to the bar.

Dory's eyes roved very slowly around the room, completing the arc by turning to inspect the people directly behind her. When she was certain nobody was watching her, she unclenched her fists.

She fingered the Time-Turner (if it was one, she still didn't know), fiercely glaring down at it. How could she have been so stupid? It was a _Black _heirloom. She should have known it wouldn't be doing her any good. _Time, as emulous as he is, lends minutes and charges for years_. What did it mean? She repeated the words in her head, with many different inflections, but couldn't wring any more meaning from them.

"A Firewhiskey and the Evening Prophet," Rosmerta's voice came behind her. She put them both on the table, offering her a jovial smile.

Balling her hands again, Dory nodded a thank you and waited till Rosmerta was out of sight. She drained the glass of Firewhiskey in one, enjoying the familiar sense of courage it provided.

_Okay_, she tried to prepare herself, _breathe in and _–

_21 November, 1977_

She was hallucinating, she must be. This couldn't be real – it couldn't possible be real. She was dreaming. Her dreams had always been odd; this must be one of them.

But then she gazed at the great open fireplace, at the quant little titles around it and at its roaring flames. She felt the heat it emitted; it flushed her cheeks and soothed her numb fingers. This was real. Trying to convince herself this was a dream was a hopeless cause. She had to face the consequences of her brainless decision to steal – eh, borrow – the Time-Turner.

First things first; she was in 1977. In the Three Broomsticks. All alone. With nothing but a few coins and a Black heirloom.

No, that wasn't bad at all.

Stubbornly, she picked up the Time-Turner-or-whatever-that-_stupid _-thing-was and started spinning the hourglass, this time the other way. She braced herself for the violent shock backward, clenching her fists, nails digging so deep they almost drew blood and then –

Nothing happened.

She turned it again.

Nothing.

Rubbing the ring?

Zero.

She rubbed, swivelled, read, whispered, wished, assaulted… absolutely no result.

The people around her started to give her strange looks, so she stopped, albeit reluctantly.

_She was stuck in 1977_. That thought recurred to her mind unceasingly. _She was stuck_.

"It's late, were you planning on sleeping here?"

It was the old man from before.

Suddenly, Dory realized she had been sitting there, motionlessly, hand pressed across her mouth, frozen in shock. It must have been a weird sight.

"How much is a room?" she asked, putting the Time-Turner back in her pocket.

Two green-grey eyes surveyed her under a pair of bushy eyebrows as the man licked his teeth. "One night, three Galleons," he said eventually.

Dory felt her gut twist from the weight of disappointment.

"I only have two," she sighed, hopelessness colouring her words. "Sir, I have nowhere to go, can I stay one night?"

"Sorry girlie, no can do," the man replied gruffly.

"I'll do anything, please?" she continued persistently. A plan, with the help of her inner Hermione, formed in her head.

The old man sniffed. "You have any friends in the area, family?"

"My… aunt and uncle, they kicked me out of the house, you see," she lied as smoothly as she could, "I have nowhere else to go, like I said."

She tried to look unaffected as he eyed her critically. "We do need another waitress here," he grumbled thoughtfully. He shot Rosmerta, who was busying herself behind the bar, a look before turning back to Dory. "Think you can do that?"

She frowned – did she have any other choice? "Work here?"

"That's what I was implying, yes," he said brusquely. "So, interested?'

"Al lright," she yielded, deciding that, at the moment, she couldn't do anything else. Her thoughts were half immersed in the mists of sleep, tired to death. She just wanted to close her eyes...

"Come on, then," he said, heading towards the bar.

Dory hastily grabbed the Prophet and the blanket and followed him. They ascended the mahogany stairs with slow strides and he escorted her to a door at the end of the hall.

"The name's Fabius Hermite, just call me Herm," the man said as he opened the wooden door.

"Dorea," she replied with an impolite yawn. She entered the room and instantly dropped onto the bed, relishing its softness and warmth. "Call me Dory…"

She stammered a few more unintelligible words, then her head fell heavily on the pillow. An instant later she had fallen asleep.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews and favs! You're lovely! **

**I ****_am _****actually toying with the idea of a pairing... Thinking about it, Dory is seventeen - her hormones are raging. I'm open to anything, just let me know who you would like to see with Dory and we'll see, mm? **


	4. Rosmerta and Herm

**Wallflower **

******Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**Rosmerta and Herm**

Dorea Potter awoke to a noise above her head.

Keeping her eyes closed, she listened; it was a footstep pacing back and forth, as though someone was walking in the room above her. This struck her as rather strange, since her guest room in Dromeda's house was on the top floor.

Then she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Groaning softly, she closed them once again, with the intention to forget what she had seen. _I'm in 1977_. The thought echoed ghostly in her head. _1977_.

She hung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, observing her surroundings. The room was narrow, neat, unobtrusive, with a long sash-window overlooking Hogsmeade's cottages and shops, all of them picturesquely painted white by a thick layer of untouched snow.

"1977," she murmured out loud. Her parents! Her _parents _were alive, Sirius was alive, and Remus… They would be in Hogwarts now. She could just go to Honeydukes, sneak through the secret passageway and say hello to her parents, if she wished to do so. With her heart hammering rapidly in her chest, Dory fell back onto the bed. The eerie numbness she had felt earlier disappeared, only to be replaced by a hurricane of emotions. She was nervous, happy, sad, panicked – what was she going to do? She had the chance to talk to her own parents…

But it would be dangerous, a little voice whispered in her ear. She had ended the war by killing Voldemort, fulfilling the prophecy by doing so. Lily Potter's death, however, had been essential in his downfall. What would happen if she slipped up, overthrown by emotions? She could possibly mess up the whole future.

"Are you all right?"

Alarmed, Dory shot up and grabbed hold of her wand, pointing it defensively at the intruder. She lowered it, feeling rather abashed, as she saw who the person was.

Rosmerta's younger counterpart raised her eyebrows. "I certainly wasn't expecting that."

Dory grinned sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Well, it _is _war. Everybody's jumpy nowadays – I'm Rosmerta, by the way," she said as she held out a hand.

"Dory." She shook it briefly.

Rosmerta's green eyes roamed around the room, a frown wrinkling her forehead. "Don't you have a trunk?"

"I don't have anything," Dory replied, "My aunt and uncle kicked me out of the house… I didn't have time to pack."

"Well, we _are_ going to be working together – you can borrow some of my stuff, if you want to…"

Work together. Those words reminded Dory of the previous evening and her deal with Fabius Hermite; she could reside in the Three Broomsticks, on the condition that she was going to work as a waitress at the popular inn. The idea itself wasn't brilliant, but what else could she do?

"Clothes are going to be a problem though," Rosmerta continued, eyeing the other girl's scrawny figure. Dory followed her gaze consciously. As opposed to Rosmerta voluptuous body, she didn't have any curves to speak of. "But I guess we can go visit Gladrags' to solve that problem."

Again, Dory was struck by the complete oddity of the conversation. Here she was, casually talking to a twenty-something-year-old Rosmerta, the landlady of the Three Broomsticks, the woman so many Hogwarts boys fancied and lusted after. Dory had flown on the back of a dragon, competed in a lethal tournament, killed a Basilisk, but _this_, unexpectedly finding herself 21 years back in the future, topped everything.

"Sounds good," Dory replied idly, "Eh, do I start today?"

Rosmerta shrugged. "Herm wants to talk to you. I guess he'll fill you in on everything you want to know." She gave the door a gentle push with the tip of her fingers, shooting Dory an expectant look.

Herm was waiting for them outside and Dory highly suspected he had been listening to their conversation. She didn't completely blame the man; Rosmerta had been right, this was a time of war. Herm had every right to be apprehensive about her.

"Rosmerta, go downstairs," he grunted. "Dorea, follow me."

"Dory," she corrected quietly as they walked through the narrow passage.

He didn't seem to hear her – or pretended to – and opened a door on their right side, shambling Dory along into a small parlour. He gestured her to take a seat in one of the Persian-green armchairs and sat down on the one behind the desk himself. His guarded eyes scrutinized her as she nervously eased herself down.

"So, thrown out of the house, are you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Dory hid her grimace – she hadn't thought about that yet.

"I reminded my aunt too much of my mother," she replied. It wasn't a complete lie.

Herm's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "But they did keep you for – how old are you, girl? Tell me!"

"Seventeen."

"– seventeen years, that's a bit strange, isn't it?" he said, caressing his bearded chin.

"I blew up my aunt," she improvised. "They are Muggles, you see, and I guess that was the last straw. Believe me, they wanted me out of the house long before this. They just never had the opportunity to do so."

Herm licked his teeth and leaned forward, his eyes alight with fiery doubt. "Blew up your aunt?"

"It's true," Dory said honestly.

"What're your aunt and uncle called? What's your surname? Answer me!" he fired at her.

Dory's eyes widened comically, taken back for a moment.

"I – eh, like I said, my aunt and uncle are Muggles, sir, you wouldn't know th–"

"ANSWER ME!" he roared.

"Petunia and Vernon," she squeaked. How could someone so small and scraggy make so much noise? "And my surname is Granger. I'm Muggle-born."

"Hm," the old man groused, relaxing in his chair. "All right then. Did you go to Hogwarts?"

Dory bit her lip. "No, I didn't."

"Well?"

"Well what?" she said, playing for time.

"Listen girl! What school did you go to? Where did you learn magic?"

"I _am_ listening."

"Pay attention, then."

"I _am _paying attention."

Dory's mind was racing; she was at loss for words. She could tell him she went to Durmstrang, but that wouldn't make sense. Besides, she knew hardly anything about the school, only that it was situated somewhere in Northern Europe. Beauxbatons? Fleur did mention a handful of facts about the French school (condescendingly criticizing Hogwarts in the progress)… but why would she, being a soi-disant 'oblivious English Muggle-born girl', have gone to Beauxbatons?

"Well?" Herm growled impatiently.

"I attended Beauxbatons," she replied nevertheless. "My mother's side of the family is French, I choose to go to France myself."

Herm snorted and sat straighter. "You know what I think?" He examined her with sharp eyes. "I think you're lying through your teeth, girlie."

"I'm not –"

"You are!" he barked, forcefully slamming his fist on the desk. "And I _will _find out what you are hiding."

Bloody hell, where did she get herself into? "You're still hiring me?"

"I have to," Herm grumbled, sliding back in his chair again. "I'm understaffed right now, war ruins your business – talking about your job here, you'll start tomorrow; first you need some clothes and Merlin's beard whatnot." He mumbled a few unintelligible words, thoughtfully scraping his cheek. "You can go now."

Dory didn't need to be told twice. She dashed out of the parlour, not even a sparing a glance at the burbling old man she left behind.

* * *

"Is he mad?" she asked Rosmerta earnestly.

The other girl, who was busy cleaning glasses, chuckled. "Sometimes I wonder. What did he say?"

"He wanted to know about my past," Dory replied. She nodded towards the glasses, "Can I help?"

"Sure, if you want to dry them off," said Rosmerta, pulling a chequered rag from her shoulder and handing it to Dory.

She grabbed one of the glasses Rosmerta had just rinsed. "Why don't you just use magic?" she asked curiously.

"Herm," explained Rosmerta, "He thinks I'll get lazy if I use magic for every little thing I have to do. Luckily he eases up a little when the pub's packed."

Drying the glass, Dory let her eyes rove around the room, taking in the very few guests enjoying their breakfast. It was early, around seven o'clock, and she shouldn't be surprised by the lack of costumers, but still, seeing the Three Broomsticks so empty was such a rare occurrence. She knew the inn as always-crowded and smoky, now it appeared to be the exact opposite.

Rosmerta noticed her look. "Don't worry," she said reassuringly. "It always gets busier around an hour or ten. And the Hogwarts students this weekend, of course. That's bound to get hectic."

Dory almost dropped the glass she was holding. The smile on her face vanished instantly, replaced by a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and a thick lump in her throat. "Sorry? Hogwarts students?"

"Yeah," Rosmerta said nonchalantly while wetting a glass and placing it on the worktop, "It's loads of fun – did you go to Hogwarts?"

"No," she replied, breathing in deeply. Her parents were going to Hogsmeade the next week, she thought frantically. Maybe they would come to the Three Broomsticks. Maybe she would see them, maybe she would _talk _to them, maybe, maybe –

_You could change the future_, the annoying, Hermione-like voice whispered again. But, Dory countered, just looking at them wouldn't hurt, right?

"Really?" Rosmerta questioned, snapping her out of her reverie. "What school did you go to, then?"

"Beauxbatons," Dory said, repeating the answer she had given Herm. She hurriedly changed the subject. "You went to Hogwarts? What house were you in?"

"Hufflepuff," the other girl replied with a proud grin. "Graduated ten years ago."

"Ten?" she repeated, surprised. "You're twenty-eight? You look much younger!"

"Why, thank you," Rosmerta smiled, looking heartened.

She turned off the tap and passed Dory the last glass.

"How long have you been working here?" she asked, reaching up and very carefully putting the wineglass in the rack above the bar.

"Nine years," replied Rosmerta, "and I don't plan on leaving the inn anytime soon."

Dory laughed cordially, "Oh, I bet you won't."

"I don't think it will be all too bad with you around," the brown-haired girl said grinningly. "C'mon, let's have breakfast – you must be hungry, too."

"Starving," Dory admitted.

"Well, that's good, we have the most delicious fresh-baked rolls on Tuesday…" Rosmerta quickly looked around and held her ear against the door behind the bar before hastily muttering "_Scourgify_". An instant later the walnut worktop was shining as though it had been freshly polished. She winked at Dory. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, eh?"

Half an hour later the two were helping themselves to food while chattering amiably – well, it was mostly Rosmerta who did the talking, but Dory found herself genuinely enjoying the other girl's company. She explained which waitressing skills were important and offered tips ("Don't work yourself up over men staring and making comments, you'll get used to it, trust me"), warned her about Herm ("Just do what he tells you to do – he gets angry so easily. But honestly, he may act tough, he's a big softie on the inside") and planned their shopping trip ("It's too bad you don't have much money to spend, hm?")

Dory mostly nodded and hummed when necessary, but did make little contributions to the conversation, twisting and turning names and avoiding talking about Beauxbatons ("Beauxbatons? It's in the south of France, but tell me more about Hogwarts!")

"Enough fun for the day," a gruff voice said. They turned around; Herm was standing behind them, looking very chagrined. "It's almost eight, Rosmerta, back to work." He pointed a white, skinny finger at Dory. "And you're going to get yourself some clothes."

"But we were planning on going together," Rosmerta protested.

"That's too bad," Herm said, the tone of his voice indicating the exact opposite. "Now, I told you to go to work, and you, girl, come with me."

Abandoning her breakfast, Dory followed the old man. She waved a goodbye to Rosmerta, who grimaced in return.

"Here," Herm grumbled, "Hold up your hand – that's four Galleons. I expect you to be back in an hour. Only buy clothes and your – girly things. Nothing else? Hear me, girl?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, go! And be back soon, you reek."

Highly offended, Dory did as she was told, feeling his pale eyes burning a hole in the back of her head as she headed towards the door.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you lovelies for the favs and reviews! The pairing is still undecided (if there's going to be one…), but remember it doesn't necessarily have to be somebody from the past. Draco Malfoy is out of the question though – there are already too many Fem!Harry/DM fics, so… **

**Kisses! **

**PS: ****My finals are starting next Monday (OH GOD O.O), so no updates for the next few weeks, sorry guys :( Eeeek, so nervous! **


	5. Acquainting and Reacquainting

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**Acquainting and Reacquainting**

"Your eyes, they're scary."

Dory breathed in deeply, forcing a smile onto her face. "Everybody their own opinion – can I get you something to drink, misses?"

"Like a those of a cat," the old lady continued shamelessly. "Don't you think so, Margaret?"

The other woman nodded her head feverishly, watching Dory through narrowed eyes. "Very skinny, too."

"Too skinny, if you ask me."

"Yes, yes, I agree," the woman identified as Margaret said presumptuously.

Giving them both a very ill-tempered look, Dory clenched her fists in frustration. "Drinks?" she repeated crossly.

"A sherry it will be, then," the old lady said, dismissively waving a wrinkled hand.

"Make that two," Margaret butted in.

She hated to admit it, but Dory had clearly underestimated how difficult her job as a waitress was going to be. Being a waitress was a an everlasting race against time, required some serious multitasking skills and, in her case, brought up a rollercoaster of emotions. Every time a new customer entered the pub, her eyes shot towards the unknown face, eagerly drinking in the features and trying to detect something – _anything _– familiar.

It was the twenty-second of November. A Tuesday, Dory had discovered. She had been working as a waitress for six hours and was already dead tired of the eyes following her every movement. Not only those of Herm and Rosmerta, but everybody was trying to catch a glimpse of the new waitress at the Three Broomsticks.

"…and not very social, is she?" she heard Margaret's condescending voice as she walked away.

Quickening her steps, Dory rushed towards the bar, where Rosmerta was amicably talking with a middle-aged, brown-haired man. As she came closer, she saw a little baby tucked in his arms.

"Dory!" Rosmerta greeted, smiling warmly. "How's your first day going?"

"Great," Dory replied, shooting the man a curious glance. He looked so vaguely familiar…

Noticing her look, Rosmerta quickly introduced them, "Amos, this is Dorea Granger, she's our new waitress. Dory, this is Amos Diggory, a friend of mine."

Dory's mouth dropped open.

_Bloody hell_.

"It's so nice to meet you, Miss Granger," Amos Diggory said bombastically.

"Amos here's become a father," Rosmerta grinned, causing Amos to beam proudly. "Just look at this precious little boy. He's absolutely beautiful, Amos. I bet he'll be quite an eye-catcher when he's older."

"He will be," Amos boasted. "Cedric's amazing. Never cries, always quiet and already so smart, Rosmerta! And he's just six months old! Six months! Incredible, isn't it?"

"Cedric?" Dory croaked, staring at the small boy. Large grey eyes peered up at her, as if this – this… _miniature _version of Cedric knew exactly what she was thinking, what would happen to him in the future, what kinds of horror he would be facing. Of course he couldn't know, but those eyes; they were exactly the same as she remembered them…

* * *

_"Dory? Can I talk to you?"_

_Dory, who had been on her way to the Owlery, turned around at the call of her name. Cedric Diggory, the other selected Hogwarts Triwizard Champion, was jogging slightly, trying to catch up with her._

_"Yeah?" she queried curiously. "Is it about the tournament?" _

_"Ah –" the Hufflepuff started gauchely, "No."_

_"Oh?"_

_"Actually…" Cedric cleared his throat, contemplating her with steady eyes, "I was wondering if you've found yourself a date for the Yule Ball yet?"_

_"No," Dory said, eyes turning skywards. "Not at all. Did you?"_

_"No such luck," he replied, smiling handsomely. "So… I was wondering if you wanted to go? With me?"_

_The words escaped her lips before she had a moment to think about them, "With you?"_

_Cedric let out an awkward laugh. "It wouldn't be that bad, would it?" _

_"I didn't mean it like that!" she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. "I mean – yes, Cedric, I would love to go with you."_

* * *

"Isn't he just the sweetest thing?" Rosmerta cooed, leaning over the bar so she could get a better view of… _Cedric_. A six-month-old Cedric. A six-month-old Cedric Diggory who was oblivious to the fact that his life wouldn't last longer than a short seventeen years. "Don't you think so, Dory?"

"He's very… cute," Dory said reluctantly, the words leaving a bad taste in her mouth. Hadn't she uttered the exact same sentence when she had seen him for the very first time?

Rosmerta agreed smilingly before glancing at the table where Margaret and her friend were seated. "What did they want to drink?"

"Sherry. Two," said Dory absentmindedly as she tried to tear her gaze away from baby Cedric's face. His eyelashes were unnaturally long, she noted, femininely so. She couldn't even remember if seventeen-year-old Cedric's lashes had been like that.

"And shall I pour you another glass, Amos?"

"Ah, why not?" Amos said, carefully putting Cedric in his pram. "A gillywater, please. Oh – and a pumpkin juice, I expect my wife will be back soon…"

_Get a grip_, Dory told herself sternly. If she couldn't handle seeing Cedric as an infant – an infant that couldn't talk –, how would she react to seeing her parents, to Remus, to Sirius?

"Two sherries," Rosmerta said, placing the glasses on the bar.

Dory picked up the glasses and put them on the wooden serving tray. She hurried towards the two women, who were both eyeing her disapprovingly.

"Took you long enough," Margaret sniffed.

"Kids these days," her friend agreed.

Paying them no mind, Dory deftly lowered her tray and set the drinks on the table. _Get a grip_, she chastised herself again. But how could she, now she had seen Cedric and Amos? What if Amos would remember her, so many years later? A sudden panic seized her; had she already messed up the future? A thousand thoughts traversed her mind, only fortifying her confusion.

Perhaps she was taking the whole matter too keenly; there was a chance they wouldn't even remember her. She had barely talked to Amos – she hadn't even met his eyes.

"Oy! Can I have six Butterbeers?" a boisterous voice pulled Dory from her thoughts.

She whirled round. "Of course, sir. I'll be right back," she assured the big-bellied man.

* * *

Hogsmeade was a lovely all-wizarding village of quaint houses and little shops, always buzzing with excitement and filled with bright-clothed wizards and witches. One might say the village resembled a Christmas card; a layer of crisp snow included.

Nevertheless, at nightfall, at the moment the daylight vanished, at the hour the twilight loomed up from behind the thatched cottages, when the darkness was deep and starless, or when the moon and the wind made openings in the clouds and lost themselves in the shadows, this picturesque little village suddenly became frightful. The black lines sank inwards and were lost in the shades. A random passer-by couldn't help but hasten his steps and look over his shoulder, multiple times. All the confused forms of darkness seemed suspicious – Hogsmeade was beautiful by day, melancholic in the evening and sinister by night.

The sky was clear, stars gleaming in its ebony vastness like celestial fireflies. There was one source of light in this darkness; a tiny inn. Beneath the creaking sign of "the Three Broomsticks", two girls were standing, both of them very red-nosed and rosy-cheeked.

"This is nice," Dory said, so soft it could be mistaken for a whisper. It was bitterly cold, but she didn't mind. It had been overbearingly warm inside.

Rosmerta hummed agreeingly. "Yeah," she breathed, leaning her head against the wall. "You did well today."

Dory smiled gratefully. "I'm just happy with the job."

"It's nice to have another girl around," said Rosmerta. "There are enough costumers to talk to, of course, but it isn't quite the same…"

A flurry of snow caught Dory's face and she relished the bite. It had been a long, tiring day, for both of them. Herm had already warned them he wouldn't be doing much on her first day, just to see how she would handle certain situations. Fortunately for Dory it had happened to be a fairly normal day, not counting two chagrined old ladies and a impromptu visit from Amos and Cedric Diggory. She blinked owlishly – the whole situation had been so unbelievably bizarre.

She glanced through the window, looking at the clock that hung above the bar. Almost two o'clock.

"It's late."

"Actually, it's early," Rosmerta replied grinningly. "I don't want to sleep yet."

The glazed snow crackled underfoot as she started towards where Rosmerta was standing. "Do we have to get up at seven again?"

"Unfortunately, yes." They were silent for a while before she continued, "When I started working here, Herm had a more people in employment. We were almost overstaffed – imagine that! But when the war started… Everybody was so confused, everybody _is _confused. Work doesn't seem to be important when your family's in danger, when you're constantly – every single minute of the day – anticipating an attack."

Dory blinked, surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

She wanted to tell her it was going to be all right; that time of peace would come, albeit temporary, but the war would come to an end, eventually.

"At that time, before 1970, I only had to work four days a week," Rosmerta went on, her face a mask of nostalgia as she stared at _Dervish & Banges_'_s_ dark shape across the street. "How can one man, one monster, ruin so many lives?"

"I know," Dory murmured, fists clenching in anger as she remembered in how many ways Voldemort had affected her life. So many innocent people had died, and all those who had survived were permanently scarred. There had been this odd numbness since the war had ended; this strange feeling of feeling alone and outside of everything. People were trying to settle for peace, at almost any price. But how could she move on, when the memories would never leave her?

"Have you… lost someone?" Rosmerta asked, taking a sideway glance at Dory.

"My parents," admitted Dory. "I was still very young though."

Rosmerta frowned. "Circe, that's awful."

Dory avoided looking into her eyes and nodded grimly. "You?"

"My parents were killed by Death Eaters," she said, her voice void of emotion, "Not because they were rebelling, not because they were prominent fighters against the Dark, but because they were _there_. It was in an attack in Diagon Alley." She sighed, the breath leaving her mouth in a pale puff of smoke. "It's been four years… but my mother used to tell me it takes courage to be happy, to feel, to love. It costs us all, but we have to move on."

"Your mother was very wise," Dory commented, smiling sadly. "She must be very proud of you."

"Must be?" Rosmerta echoed, eyebrows raising to the top of her forehead.

"Must be," Dory confirmed.

Rosmerta laughed; it was laced with incredulity. "It's nice to see someone so positive," she said, sounding sincere. "I didn't know you were so spiritual."

"Oh, I'm not." She didn't elaborate – what could she possibly say? She could hardly tell her that she had owned a stone that could bring back shades of the deceased.

A grin stretched Rosmerta's lips, but her eyes were curious. Realizing Dory wouldn't continue, she broached a new subject, "How old are _you_, Dory?"

"Eighteen."

"You look much younger," Rosmerta said mockingly, repeating Dory's words from the previous day. "No, seriously, you do look much younger. Just graduated, did you?"

Dory tried to keep her face natural as she replied, "Yeah."

"Beauxbatons…" Rosmerta mumbled. "You must be fluent in French, then?"

"Yeah," she bluffed. Hurriedly, she added, "It's really late, we should probably go to sleep."

Rosmerta clapped her hands together and nodded. "You're right."

"Aren't you cold? With those shoes, I mean," Dory said, quietly entering the inn. Rosmerta was wearing sparkly red heels; her footsteps clicked and clacked on the floor as she walked towards the hatstand and shrugged off her cloak.

"I got used to it," she replied, "There's a key in the little cabinet behind the bar – can you grab that? It's in the bottom drawer."

Dory did as told and searched for the cabinet. Crouching down low, she opened the drawer and pulled out an copper, ancient-looking key. The scent of woody parchment and dried ink rose from the drawer as she lifted it up.

"Should I lock the door?" she asked and made a beeline for the large, oaken door at the other side of the pub.

"You've found it? – Yeah, if you'd like to, and a Locking Spell, just to be sure."

She turned the key in the lock of the door before pulling out her wand and muttering, "Colloportus". The door sealed itself with a squelching sound.

It was still snowing outside. Thick pelts were falling silently behind the huge arched windows, and she longingly recalled how warm it had been in _her _time, in August 1997.

"They're very lovely, don't you think?" Rosmerta chortled, admiring the heels adorning her feet. "Very Christmassy."

"Christmas? Already?"

"It's never too early for Christmas," she said, her eyes dreamy. "Don't you just love Christmas time?"

"I love Christmas too," Dory said with a grin, "but November's a bit _too _early, I think."

Rosmerta shrugged carelessly. "Just like Herm, I swear. I tried to convince him to already decorate the pub in November, but he won't budge."

"How strange," Dory remarked dryly.

"Yeah," Rosmerta continued earnestly, "Herm doesn't really like Christmas… Makes no sense, really – who doesn't like Christmas?"

They tiptoed their way upstairs and glided through the corridor to their respective rooms.

"See you tomorrow," Dory yawned, suddenly filled with languor. The thought of her bed, warm and white, made her drowsy. She laid her hand on the knob, the latch yielded and the door gently opened; she was just about to enter when Rosmerta's voice made her pause.

"Dory?"

"Yes?"

"It's really fun with you 'round."

Despite her fatigue, Dory's lips spread into a vague and sleepy smile. "I really like working with you, too, Rosmerta."

"See you tomorrow," Rosmerta repeated Dory's words, disappearing through the doorway to her own room, next to Dory's.

Dory stumbled towards the bathroom, grabbing her newly bought pyjamas along the way, and took off her working clothes. While she was doing this, she caught sight of herself in the mirror over the basin.

"Looks a bit pale, dear," the mirror told her breathily.

Ignoring the comment, Dory got into her pyjamas and threw herself onto the bed. She lifted her pillow and picked up the small Time-Turner that was hidden beneath it. She caressed it softly, whispering, "I want to go back."

Nothing happened – she hadn't expected something to happen either, but there always was a teeny-tiny flicker of hope. With a disappointed sigh she put it back under her pillow and rolled over in bed. It was surprisingly comfortable; just lying there and listening to the winter storm raging outside. She closed her eyes and fell asleep, dreaming about baby Cedrics, platinum Time-Turners, Rosmerta and bickering old ladies…

**A/N: A bit of bonding between Dorea and Rosmerta! And Cedric – sorry, just had to add that bit. Thank you for the sweet reviews and favs! **

**Kisses! **

**PS: Yeeeees, I should be learning for my finals right now, but I have English tomorrow! So this is good, right?**

**…right? **


	6. A Matter of Time

**Wallflower **

******Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**A Matter of Time**

Dory had slept only a few hours, but soundly. She awoke with a watery winter sun in her eyes, which at first made her think that she was still dreaming. The dream had been tumultuous; Dumbledore had been there, looking at her with his brilliant blue eyes, and kept on telling her the same thing: "Do what you know needs to be done". His appearance, ethereal and serene, and his voice, pleasant and calm, just like she remembered, had been so real, she wondered if it truly had been just a dream.

Despite working long hours and having little to no sleep, the rest of the week had seemed to pass by very quickly. Dory couldn't help but carry around the dread of starting Saturday. It was like Professor Trelawney all over again; telling her she would die this weekend, and every minute was a minute that led her closer to her doom. It wasn't that Dory didn't want to see her parents. On the contrary, she couldn't wait to finally see them in person, _alive_, to see what their life had been like before Wormtail's betrayal. She just didn't know how to act when they would be there. She couldn't possibly ignore them, could she? Dory wondered if she had to face the two of them at the same time. Were her parents already a couple? Sirius did tell her they started dating in their seventh year at Hogwarts…

"Are you awake yet?" Herm's gruff voice asked her from behind the door.

"Yeah," Dory said, throwing her legs over the side of the bed, "I'll be down in a moment."

He didn't reply, but she did hear him move on to the next door to wake Rosmerta. Her relationship with the man had been… strained, to say at least. Their conversations were curt and didn't revolve around anything other than the inn, his orders were spoken harshly and she couldn't seem to gain any respect from the man, no matter how hard she would work. But that didn't mean she wasn't developing a considerable respect for Herm – the way he ran the Three Broomsticks was admirable. While he didn't have a lot of interaction with his guests, he was a very sedulous, committed worker in the background. Dory quickly learned Rosmerta was the one responsible for guest relations, while Herm spent most of his time on the paperwork.

She hadn't seen any particular familiar faces since Amos – of course there were little characteristics she recognized but couldn't quite put a finger on, but nobody to stress about. It did however, worsen the anxiety to see her parents, Sirius, Remus and, yes, even Wormtail.

Dory got dressed and was just making an attempt to tame her hair when Rosmerta stormed into the room, looking very disgruntled as she slipped on her high heels.

"I know Hogwarts students are coming today," she said, "but that man needs to realize that a witch needs her sleep."

They headed down for breakfast, where Herm was reading the front page of the Daily Prophet, his eyebrows dropped dangerously low as his eyes raked over the little black letters.

"Did something happen, Herm?" Rosmerta asked him as they sat down.

Herm grunted. "More Death Eater attacks, more disappearances," he said and turned the page, "more deaths."

"Deaths?" Rosmerta repeated, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "Did they give any names?"

Herm's old lips cracked into a twisted smile. "Of course not," he replied, eyes still trained on the Prophet. "Wouldn't want to cause panic, now would they?"

"They're withholding information we have the right to know!" Rosmerta said, sounding scandalized.

Dory, who had wittingly remained quiet during the conversation, took a sip of her tea, watching the scene with rapt eyes. She hadn't known the first wizarding war had been so similar to the one that would follow.

"Like I said, nothing new," Herm grumbled. "Idiots, all of them. It's over, whoever claims the Dark Lord hasn't won yet is fooling himself."

"That's not true," Dory spoke up. "You don't know that."

His eyes finally left the paper as he shot her an extremely contemptuous look. "Foolish girl, haven't you been reading the Prophet? He's winning, girlie, and there's not a thing we can do about it."

"I'm not foolish," she said through clenched teeth. "I'm just not already going to admit Voldemort's victory, like _you_."

"He has alliances with Giants and werewolves!" snarled Herm. "The Light doesn't stand a chance!"

Dory tried to breathe through her nose to settle herself a little – it wouldn't be the first time her temper would get her in trouble. "All right," she said tersely, "if that's what you think."

There was a strained silence, in which Herm and Dory stared at each other, both unwilling to be the first to break eye-contact.

Rosmerta coughed. "Right," she muttered, "Could you pass me the butter, Dory?"

* * *

The first Hogwarts students poured in around ten o'clock. Every time the little bell at door announced a new arrival, Dory's head would snap up, her heart beating violently in her chest. _Keep calm_, she told herself as Rosmerta shot her yet another concerned look. They hadn't talked since the disagreement at breakfast. Dory had been acting nervous all morning – displaying itself in angry retorts to Herm's barked orders, a distant look in her eyes and almost getting a whiplash from turning her head so many times.

An odd sensation burned in the pit of her stomach as her eyes raked over the unknown faces of the students. These students, all of them younger than she was, were her parents' age in _her _time. They greeted Rosmerta amicably and suddenly Dory realized the girl she had been befriending this week was the same woman Malfoy had put the Imperius curse on in their sixth year, the one Ron used to fancy, the same landlady that would serve them deliciously hot Butterbeer when they visited the Three Broomsticks on their Hogsmeade trips.

She surveyed the older girl with newfound amazement. She was standing behind the bar, laughing loudly at a joke one of the students was telling her. Dory's heart skipped a beat as Rosmerta beckoned her over.

"This is Dory, our new waitress," she said, gesturing to Dory, who was now standing next to her.

A tall, fair-haired boy beamed at her. "Well hullo, Dory! Nice to meet you. I'm Dolan Pontner, these are my friends, Oscar Ackerley and Dirk Cresswell."

_Dirk Cresswell_ – the name echoed grimly in her ears. She wasn't surprised that he was a Gryffindor. The Muggle-born had proven to be incredibly brave when he had been sent to Azkaban but escaped halfway by Stunning John Dawlish. Dory briefly recalled Lee Jordan's solemnly spoken words – _"Let's take a moment to report those deaths that the Wizarding Wireless Network News and Daily Prophet don't think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell…_"

Dory took a deep breath and forced a small smile, not wanting to come across rude. It wasn't their fault she was in a horribly anxious mood and intent on avoiding as many Hogwarts students as possible.

"Nice to meet you, too," she said as conversationally as she could. "What house are you in?"

"Gryffindor, of course!" grinned Oscar, who was curly-haired and heavily freckled.

Rosmerta chortled, propping her elbows on the bar. "And can we get these Gryffindors something to drink?"

Looking very mischievous, Dolan leaned forward and murmured, "We've always wanted to try Firewhiskey, Rosmerta, and, well, we were thinking… maybe, pretty please, you could... you know, overlook the rules for once?"

He topped it off with a full-blown, crinkly-eyed smile.

"I don't think so, Dolan," Rosmerta tutted, running her finger around the rim of her glass. "Good try, though. Butterbeer it will be, then?"

"But, _Rosmerta _–"

Dirk interrupted him, speaking up for the first time, "Butterbeer would be great, Rosmerta," and passed her several silver coins.

Dejected, Dolan slumped back on his stool and cast an irritated look in his friend's direction. "Thanks for the support, mate."

"It's ten o'clock," Dirk reasoned, easing himself down on the stool next to Dolan, "I don't think it'd be the smartest thing to do."

Rosmerta placed three foaming tankards of butterbeer in front of them. "Listen to you friend, Dolan," she advised. She turned to Dory then, "You want one?"

It was too bad Dirk's comment had been completely true – she could really use a little liquid courage right now. "Yeah, Butterbeer sounds nice," she replied instead, picking up the Daily Prophet Herm had left behind and tapping it against the bar lightly.

"Awful, isn't it?" Dirk said, seeing her fingers run over the headline – "_Death Eater attack targets Muggles_".

"It is," agreed Dory.

"It's impossible for the Ministry to keep it hidden for Muggles this way." He shifted in his seat, peering cautiously over his shoulder. "Even my parents are noticing it, you know? I try not to spill too much, but with all the terror going on it's no surprise they're figuring it out by themselves."

"Did you tell them about You-Know-Who?" she queried curiously. _You-Know-Who_. That sounded strange. In her time most wizards and witches weren't afraid to speak his name anymore, not after Voldemort had died.

Dirk grimaced. "I did, when I was younger. Wish I hadn't though."

"I remember when my dad told my mum about him, in my second year," Oscar intervened, taking a sip from his Butterbeer, "Near hysterics, she was. If it was up to her, we would've left the country a long time ago. You should've seen her face when he described what Inferi were… or when he told her You-Know-Who had created an army of them."

"Ouch, must've been painful," Dolan sympathized. "Wouldn't want to explain _that _to anyone. Why would he tell her about Inferi though? It'll only make her more scared."

"Dad likes to think of himself as a realist," said Oscar, making a face. He got to his feet. "C'mon, let's go to Honeydukes – I've run out of Sugar Quills. It was nice meeting you, Dory."

Dolan gulped down his butterbeer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "See you around, Dory!"

They left the pub, laughing and talking as they made their way to the door.

Rosmerta watched the three fifth-years depart, an affectionate look on her face. "Sweet, aren't they? I feel so old watching them grow up. They used to be much smaller when came here for the first time."

Dory nodded inattentively, running her finger around the rim of her tankard. It was almost half past ten. Her parents could walk in any second…

"What's bothering you?" Rosmerta asked. "You've been acting weird all morning."

"It's nothing," Dory replied, glancing at the clock once again, "Just hot in here, don't you think?"

Rosmerta smiled. "We can go outside later, if you want to – hi, Anne. Three Butterbeers? That would be would be twelve Sickles."

"You really know all their names by heart?" asked Dory, her eyes on Anne's retreating back. She felt slightly nauseous as she watched the students, each one of them adding to the lump of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

"You will too," Rosmerta replied, laughter colouring her voice. "Mark my words."

"We'll see. I –"

The bell jingled and again, interrupting their conversation, and four all too familiar boys boisterously entered the pub.

"Wondered when they'd come," Rosmerta murmured, but Dory didn't hear her. Her eyes were focused on the group of laughing boys, her heart pumping harder and faster than ever before; it seemed to explode at the sight: James Potter, lanky and bespectacled, was leading his friends, Sirius, tall and good-looking, not far behind him. Remus, brown-haired and very tired-looking, and Peter, chubbier than his friends, were walking behind them.

Even over the voices in the crowded room, she recognized their loud laughter and Dory's gaze shot to the boys, eagerly taking in their flushed faces.

Warmth seemed to fill her whole body and all her plans to avoid them seemed to magically disappear out of her mind. It wouldn't be _that_ bad to talk to them. They wouldn't know who she was. She was just the new waitress at the Three Broomsticks to them.

"Rosmerta, darling!" Sirius greeted the barmaid with a charming grin. "How I've missed you."

"Immensely," James agreed, nodding his head earnestly.

Rosmerta tittered heartily, placing her hand on the bar as she leaned forward. "Hullo, boys. Take a seat," she welcomed with a warm smile, gesturing to the barstools. "Allow me to introduce our new waitress, Dory."

"Welcome to Hogsmeade, Dory," said Sirius, holding out his hand. "I'm Sirius. Sirius Black. And no, Prongs, no 'no-pun-intended'-jokes."

"He's super serious though," James told Dory grinningly. "I'm James Potter, nice to meet you."

Remus shook his head at his friends' antics, looking very exasperated as he turned to Dory. "Remus Lupin, the –"

"He likes to say 'sane one'; don't listen," said James.

"–pleasure is all mine," Remus finished, shooting James a look.

"And I'm Peter!" the smallest one of the group piped up. "Peter Pettigrew."

Dory swallowed past the lump in her throat, trying to say something somewhat sensible. "Dorea Granger," she said finally. "Call me Dory."

"My mum was called Dorea," James remarked, dropping down on one of the stools. He examined her with bright, hazel eyes. Dory sucked a nervous breath, smiling weakly as she stared back at him. "You look a lot like her, actually."

"Maybe you two are family," said Sirius briskly. He was also staring at Dory, his eyes very curious.

"I don't think so," she said. "I'm Muggle-born."

Remus also sat down, reaching for the Daily Prophet Dory had been reading earlier. "Must be a coincidence, then," he commented, unfolding the newspaper and scanning the headlines. "You didn't attend Hogwarts, did you? I don't remember seeing you before…"

"Dory went to Beauxbatons," Rosmerta answered before Dory could say anything. "Can I offer you four something to drink?"

"Butterbeer, of course!" James cheered.

"How did the last Quidditch game go?" Rosmerta asked as she grabbed four tankards from the cabinet under the bar and began to fill them with butterbeer. "Ah – stupid question."

And James was off, his eyes twinkling with childlike enthusiasm as he gave them a very detailed report of last week's Quidditch match against Ravenclaw; apparently Gryffindor had taken an early lead, mainly due to James's "impressive" scoring skills, but (James said this a bit reluctantly) also gifted by Ravenclaw. Quirke's poor aim had been followed by an ever poorer intercepted back-pass by Belby, and despite the Keeper's first "scrambled" save from Peakes, James had had a simple throw-in to open the scoring (Wormtail let out a cheer).

Dory listened attentively, hanging onto every word, taking in the sound of his voice, fascinated by the way he emphasized his words with almost violent gestures. James only seemed to enjoy the interest Dory was giving him, grinning boastfully and specifying his report even further.

"That's enough, Prongs," said Sirius finally. "I think you're boring them."

James looked indignant. "I'm not! You're not bored, are you? Dory, Rosmerta?"

"'Course they are," Sirius went on, drinking some butterbeer, "and besides, we get to hear you ranting about Quidditch all day. Or Evans. Both are starting to get a bit… tiresome. No offense, mate."

"Right," James said. "None taken."

"Evans? Not Lily Evans? You're not _still_ chasing that girl?" laughed Rosmerta.

"She's actually starting to like me!"

"True," said Sirius, sounding humoured. "I don't have the slightest idea how, but he managed to do it."

"She thinks you've really matured this year," Remus butted in from behind the Daily Prophet. "You know, lost the… less savoury aspects of your personality, cleaned up your act. She told me when we sat next to each other in Potions."

"And you're telling me now?" James said, sounding positively delighted. "She really said that, Moony?"

"No, he's lying to you," Sirius told him gravely.

Rosmerta rolled her eyes in amusement. "You lot never change, eh?"

"Never," James grinned.

Dory's stomach squirmed pleasantly as she watched them joke with each other – they were looking so normal, so _happy_. But still, the teenagers from Snape's memory, the memory she had watched in Dumbledore's Pensieve, had come across less mature, less worried. It could be Sirius's darkened eyes; or the absence of James's habit to rumple up his hair; or maybe the way Wormtail balled his fists when Sirius mocked him once again.

She was shaken out of her reverie when Sirius suddenly stood up. He drained the few last drops from his tankard and announced, "It's quite warm in here, isn't it? I'm going outside – get some fresh air."

Turning to Dory, Rosmerta placed a hand on her shoulder. "You can go too. You wanted to get some fresh air too, right?"

"I…" Dory began, sparing a cautious glance at Sirius's expectant face.

"You look very flushed," said Rosmerta. "Really, I've got everything under control in here."

"But –"

"It _is_ warm in here," she continued, "I'm going to get some fresh air later, too. C'mon, go. It'll do you good."

"All right," Dory gave in, not knowing what else to say.

Painfully slow, she headed towards the hatstand and grabbed her cloak. Sirius was waiting for her at the door. Pushing it open, they left nothing behind, only a flurry of air and the bracing cold bite of November.

* * *

**That was longer than I expected it to be! I just couldn't stop writing :)**

**The pairing is decided… well, it's not really a PAIRing, but alright. It's going to be a Sirius/Dorea/Regulus love triangle and honestly, I'm kind of excited to write about them. Once again, thank you for the reviews/favs/alerts! **

**Kisses! **


	7. Camaraderie

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**Camaraderie**

Cosy couples lazily meandered the streets and children trudged their sleds and threw snowballs. Their footsteps moved soundlessly on the street, muffled by a deep blanket of whiteness. The feathery snowflakes swirled down from the icy-grey sky, onto their rosy faces. The sun that had woken her up had hidden itself behind the laden clouds, leaving the day gloom, grim and exceedingly cold.

Dory and Sirius had started walking – why, she had no idea. They didn't seem to have a destination; just aimlessly wandering through the snow-covered streets of Hogsmeade, passing its little cottages and shops, enjoying the coldness of the winter on their heated skin.

"Oy! Wait!"

Dory and Sirius whirled round; James was trying to catch up with them.

"Can't last a minute without me, can you, Prongs?" Sirius grinned, walking a little slower.

"You see right through me, Padfoot," James sighed facetiously. Then he grinned and said, "No, I just remembered I'm out of Fizzing Whizbees, so we'll have to drop by Honeydukes."

"Ah, good. I'm hungry," Sirius said, rubbing his stomach.

"You're always hungry."

"So? You're always hungry, too."

"Point taken."

Dory crinkled her nose, wrenching her eyes from the murky sky to cast a sideway glance at James. "Fizzing Whizzbees? Don't they contain dried Billywigs?"

James's mouth dropped open in horror. His eyes, wide with disbelieve, snapped to hers. "Sorry?" he asked, his voice croaky. "How do you know?"

"I remember reading it somewhere…" she replied. "They used to be one of my favourite sweets, but after learning _that_ I never ate them again."

"Ah, well," James said, shrugging, "we'll stick with Chocolate Frogs, then. Thanks for telling me."

Dory smiled, touched, and, even though it was freezing outside, she suddenly felt very warm-hearted.

"So, how's working at the Three 'Sticks?" Sirius queried as they crossed the road, "Having Herm as a boss must be a challenge."

"You're right about Herm," said Dory, chancing a sideway glance at him, "but Rosmerta's great – I couldn't have done it without her help."

"And you went to Beauxbatons," Sirius recalled. "When did you leave France?"

"This summer," she lied, "right after my graduation."

"You're nineteen, then?"

Dory shook her head. "No, eighteen."

"How –"

"You're asking a lot of questions," she noted, interrupting him.

Waving a dismissive hand, Sirius said, "Can't blame me – just curious."

"And curiosity killed the cat," Dory said.

"Don't compare me with a cat!" he said indignantly, "I really, _really _don't like cats."

James sniggered mysteriously, "Wonder why?"

Their pace slowed down as they reached Honeydukes. Hogwarts students were crowded around the sweetshop, munching on buttery toffees, colourful sweets, and, Dory noted enviously, deliciously creamy, light-brown chocolate.

Squeezing themselves through the sea of visitors, they made their way towards the entrance. The thick, sugary-sweet-scented air enveloped them as soon as they crossed the threshold. Dory breathed in deeply – all the most wonderful smells in the world seemed to mixed in the air around them; the mouth-watering smell of gooey caramel, fresh-brewed coffee, crushed hazelnuts, melted chocolate, powdery vanilla…

"Hmm," Sirius hummed contentedly. He held his nose high in the air and sniffed, like a dog. "I could just stay here all day."

"Why don't we?" James said, leading them to the chocolate section of the store; a wall, entirely covered with containers with different kinds of chocolate, from creamy white to rich dark – Dory's stomach growled hungrily. "I don't want to go back outside anyway. I hate the snow."

Dory blinked.

"You hate the snow?" she echoed, puzzled. "Why?"

"Unnecessary freezing of water, if you ask me," James said, tearing his gaze away from the rows of chocolate to grin at her. "If it hadn't been for snowball fights, snow wouldn't have any benefits at all."

"I love the snow," she said, a small frown etched on her forehead.

"Me too," Sirius interjected as he grabbed yet another Chocolate Frog. "You want one, Dory?"

"I don't have any money," she admitted, shaking her head. The words sounded alien to her own ears; they rolled off her tongue like a foreign language, thick and unfamiliar.

"But that's no problem," said James. He loaded his arms with as many sweets he could carry, beaming brightly when he saw her disapproving look. "We've got enough."

"You're not going to pay for me," she told him sternly.

"'Course we are," he insisted, giving her an arrogant sort of smile. "Money's no problem. And really, what's a Chocolate Frog? Three Sickles?"

"That doesn't matter," she said, glaring at Sirius, who was trying to push a box of Chocoballs in her hands. "You're not going to pay for me."

"Don't be a spoilsport," said Sirius. "We'd _like _to pay for you."

"You two are mad." Dory was unable to keep the smile from her face. Is this how her childhood could have been? Full of laughter, teasing and joking around? Gazing up at the much taller James, her _father_, her heart clenched painfully. She wanted to get to know this boy – _man_… She couldn't think of her father as a boy. But Merlin, she was looking at her seventeen-year-old father; he was even younger than her right now!

Sirius stared at her for a moment before moving his gaze to James. "Did you hear that, Prongs?"

"Sure did, Padfoot," James said woefully. "We're mad, apparently."

"Way to state the obvious."

"Uh-huh."

"_Merlin_," Dory muttered. She threw up her hands exasperatedly then, hissing, "Fine, _pay _then. But you're getting it back."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "We win, like always," he said triumphantly, lightly tugging at her dark hair, "which isn't that surprising, really. We're very persuasive. I mean, how could it be otherwise, with our dashing good looks, irresistible charm, exceptional talent for, well, everything, our unprecedented sense of humour, extraordinary intelligence…"

"That's _very _interesting, Padfoot – and highly true, if I do say myself, but I reckon, and I'm taking a wild guess here, you're boring darling Dory here."

"How insightful," Dory said wryly.

"Me and boring don't go in the same sentence, Prongs," Sirius told his friend gravely. He gently nudged Dory's shoulder, pushing her towards the other side of the shop. She briefly noticed how… touchy he was being. "C'mon, I really want to try those Pepper Imps."

"Yeah," said James vaguely, his eyes longingly trained on the barrel filled with Fizzing Whizbees. He turned around, looking at Dory with a dead serious look on his face. "Dory, are you absolutely sure, and I mean really, completely sure that they put Billywigs in that stuff? Shouldn't they warn us about something like that? They can't just put insects in a sweet! That's disgusting. Swindle, I tell you."

"I – err…" she started, but Sirius interrupted her before she could say anything, "It doesn't matter, mate. Exploding bonbons are much better anyway."

"That's what you think," said James sulkily.

"How else did you think they make you float? A Levitation Charm?" Sirius sniggered.

James looked as though he wanted to object, but thought better of it and sagely remained silent.

"Like Sirius said, it doesn't matter," Dory hurriedly cut in. "I need to go back to the Three Broomsticks – Rosmerta only told me I could go and get some fresh air. We've been gone long enough."

When Sirius and James had paid for their generous amount of sweets, the three of them left Honeydukes' sugary warmth for the bitter coldness outside. Dory shivered, the harsh change from cold to warm feeling like knifes on her skin.

"And to think we went outside 'cause it was too hot," Sirius murmured, rubbing his hands together.

James pointed, with a thickly gloved hand, at the tiny inn on the other side of the road. "Almost there."

* * *

"You certainly look better," Rosmerta told her grinningly as Dory joined her behind the bar. "Where did you three go? Peter checked outside, but he didn't see you there."

"Honeydukes," James said, unwrapping a Chocolate Frog and looking at the card. "Bugger, Gregory the Smarmy, _again_."

"Bad luck, Prongs," Sirius said and then stuffed an enormous block of Honeydukes' Best Chocolate into his mouth. "Wosmetta, Dowy, you wan' 'ome 'ocolate?"

Rosmerta laughed, "Excuse me?"

"If we want some chocolate," Dory translated lazily – she had been friends with Ron Weasley for seven years, after all. "And no thanks, Sirius."

"Ooh! Have you got Chocoballs? I love those!" Rosmerta said, sounding breathless.

Sirius swallowed before answering, "Actually, they're Dory's – ask her."

"Sure," Dory said to Rosmerta, who was watching her with large, expectant eyes. She pushed the box of Chocoballs in the other girl's direction. "Here, take it – you want one, Remus? Eh… Peter?"

"Is it all right if go outside for a few minutes, too? – oh, what time is it?" Rosmerta said as she opened the golden box, eyeing it hungrily.

"Almost twelve," said Remus helpfully, leaning back and looking skywards at the large, train station clock that hung above the bar.

Rosmerta glanced at Dory and a small, worried frown creased her forehead. "Hm, lunchtime's very busy. Think you can manage on your own, Dory?" she queried, concerned, and quickly added, "It'll be good practice."

"Yeah, of course," Dory nodded, striving to keep her face natural. They had been working alternate shifts, sure, but most of the time Rosmerta had been there to keep an eye on her. Now _she _was going to be the one in charge of the inn – Herm was upstairs doing paperwork. A sudden anger took hold of her; _he _was the landlord. Shouldn't he be downstairs, helping and conversing with their customers?

"Are you sure?" Rosmerta pushed on. "I could wait 'till lunch's over…"

"No," said Dory. "Really, it's all right. Like you said, it'll good practice. I need to learn it, one way or another."

Rosmerta grabbed her cloak, still looking a tad apprehensive, and bade them goodbye. Dory watched her go through the door, anxiety creeping up her spine. A feeling that only worsened as she resettled her gaze on the four rowdily-talking boys in front of her.

"Hey, waitress!" yelled one of the boys seated at the table near the fireplace. "You're done _waiting _there?" He roared with laughter, clutching his side. "Get it? Waitress, waiting?"

"Isn't he just the life of the party?" Remus remarked dryly as he helped himself to the Chocoball Dory had offered him.

James and Sirius were laughing loudly – for whole other reasons though.

"That's pathetic," Sirius said. "Really, who _is _that?"

"Davey Gudgeon," Wormtail chimed in. "Remember? From –"

" – the accident with the Whomping Willow," Remus finished darkly. "Yes, I remember, Wormtail."

Dory picked up the serving tray and cast Remus a quick, apprehensive look before making her way to Davey Gudgeon, who was still grinning broadly.

"What can I do for you?"

"No drinks," the boy next to Gudgeon said in a low whisper. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words, but eventually he coughed and spoke, "Eh – well, you see - I'm, eh –"

"He wonders if you're interested in him," one of the few girls drawled easily.

"_Jane_," the boy hissed angrily. Then he turned to Dory, his expression almost endearingly hopeful. "So… eh – yeah, what she said. What do think?"

Feeling very flustered, Dory gave him a polite smile. "Oh, I don't think it'd be very professional. I just started working here, you see, and…"

The boy looked absolutely crestfallen. Even so, he managed to give her a small, feeble smile. "Can I at least have your name?"

"Dory," she said and added, as though it could soften the rejection, "I really can't get you something to drink?"

"No, thanks," the boy said. As Dory walked back towards the bar she heard him say, "Merlin's beard, first Rosmerta and now her. Is there something wrong with me? Davey, Jane?"

"What did he want?" asked James curiously.

"Hm?" Dory's eyes met his hazel ones and with a jolt, she realized once again that this tall, bespectacled boy she was talking to was her long-deceased father. She swallowed thickly, very emotional all of a sudden. Nerves and excitement twisted in her stomach – she wanted to learn more about him. Not just the troublemaking James, not just Head Boy James and not just crazy-about-Lily James, but the person beyond the surface.

She wanted to get to know the _real _James Potter; she wanted to discover the little facts about her father only close friends would know.

"Well?" Sirius pressed.

"Hm, what?" said Dory, blinking away her thoughts. "Oh, right. He wanted to know whether we serve orange juice – we don't."

Remus was watching her. Giving her a knowing smile, he cocked one eyebrow incredulously.

"We should probably go," said James and abruptly stood up. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a large, golden watch very similar to the one Ron had received on his seventeenth birthday. Dory wondered why he didn't just look at the clock hanging above him – _another _thing she wished to know about her father. "I really want to pay a visit to out great friend Zonko."

Dory frowned. "You're already going?" she asked unthinkingly.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Sirius grinned briskly as he also got to his feet. He winked at her. "But we'll see each other soon. Just because we're allowed to go to Hogsmeade today, doesn't mean we don't go when we're not – give Rosmerta our love, will you?"

* * *

In the falling silence there was no sky or earth, only weightless snowflakes lifting in the wind, scattering wildly through the sky, frosting the window glass, freezing the rooms, deadening and hushing the village. The sky was a very surreal dark grey and there wasn't one single star to relieve the shadowy darkness. Hence, Rosmerta and Dory had thought it was necessary to keep a candle lightened, even though it was one o'clock in the morning and Herm would most likely throw a fit if he caught them staying up so late.

"I give up," Rosmerta said with a deep, defeated sigh. "It's impossible."

"Told you," Dory laughed, uncrossing her legs and throwing them over the side of the bed. "We can't all have hair like yours. Believe me, I'm very jealous."

"Have you ever been able to tame it?" questioned Rosmerta. She laid the brush, with which she had attempted to neaten Dory's hair, on the bed, watching the back of Dory's head with something that could only be described as pure fascination. "It hasn't always been like this, has it?"

"There was this Yule Ball, once," she replied vaguely. "It required loads of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and more than a few spells though."

"You want to brush mine?" Rosmerta said, handing the brush to Dory, who took it.

They sat in silence and listened to the raging blizzard outside. It was a comfortable silence – long and peaceful and it gave Dory time to think, to clear her thoughts. Sirius's words kept repeating themselves in her head, no matter how hard she tried to wave them aside – "_Just because we're allowed to go to Hogsmeade today, doesn't mean we don't go when we're not_". She should have known. Fred and George used to visit Hogsmeade frequently; sometimes to get drinks for the post-Quidditch victory parties, other times for the sheer fun of it. She shouldn't be surprised that the Marauders did it, too.

What did surprise Dory, was how easy it had been for her to talk to them. She just wished… wished that they had stayed longer. The little voice, so much like Hermione's, chastising her that 'it would dangerous' and that 'she could possibly change the future' started to agitate her as well. How could it be expected from her to do nothing? It wasn't like her to just sit there and do nothing. And as much as she liked being 'just Dory' for once, she hated feeling this restless.

Yes, she had to do something. She had been sent to 1977 for a reason – Dromeda, Bellatrix and Narcissa had turned the Time-Turner's hourglass and _they _didn't travel back through time.

But what to do? Where to begin? What _could _she do?

"Dory?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you stop brushing my hair?"

Dory frowned slightly, annoyed by the interruption. "Oh, I'm ready," she replied nevertheless, looking at Rosmerta's knotless hair – beautiful in texture but dull in colour.

"Great, thanks," she said, beaming. "Would you mind braiding it?"

"Of course not. Do you have a hairband?"

Laughing, Rosmerta shook her head and leaned forward to pick up a headband from her night table. "No, my hair is so thick, I can only tie it with a headband – here it is."

"Thanks. Wait, headband?"

"Oh, yes! Strange, isn't it? A lot of people…"

But she scarcely heard Rosmerta. Dory's mind was racing ahead. Of course, why hadn't she thought about this? Headband, diadem, _Horcrux._ Voldemort would have five Horcruxes by now – Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, Helga Hufflepuff's cup, Salazar Slytherin's locket, Marvolo Gaunt's ring and his own diary. Maybe this was the task she had been given. It had to be! _This _is why she had been transported to the past, she thought excitedly. She had four years. Four years to destroy all six Horcruxes.

But where to begin?

* * *

**AN: You might have noticed I changed the summary. While writing this (especially the last few chapters), I got so inspired and I have this whole new story line in my head. **

**I'm slightly OCD-ish when it comes to OOC-ness, so I hope I got the characters right. **

**Thank you so much for the reviews (and favs and alerts, of course!). I love reading them, especially the longer ones. **


	8. RAB

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**R.A.B. **

Dory couldn't sleep.

Adrenaline was rushing through her body with rapid speed – what to do, what to do? She had been planning all night, contemplating what would be the best way to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes. Doubt and something akin to fear had begun to crawl their way through; the whole idea seemed to be impossibly difficult. The Basilisk was still slithering through the Chamber of Secrets, restless and _alive_; the cup was still safely hidden in the Lestrange family vault and _dear Merlin_, Slytherin's locket, which was resting in a basin in the seaside cave – that one would probably the hardest.

Marvolo's ring and Ravenclaw's diadem would be easier to get hold of. The Gaunt shack and the Room of Requirement… As long as she didn't put the ring on, she would be fine. She grimaced as she remembered Dumbledore's shrivelled hand._ No_, she thought, _definitely not putting on the ring_.

The diadem, the lone Horcrux unprotected by heavy layers of dark magic, was hidden in the Room of Requirement. The only problem was getting into Hogwarts – maybe James and Sirius could help her?

Running a hand over her face, Dory sat up and went to the window, quietly opening the curtains. A thick sheet of powdery snow covered everything in sight and dark grey smoke rose from the chimneys. She gave the window a gentle push, gasping softly when the icy wind wafted across her clammy face. It felt oddly comfortable and filled her with some sort of contentment, despite her current worries.

She leaned forward and stuck out her head, staring down at Hogsmeade's snow-covered, barely-lit streets. She knew that, if she was going to locate and destroy the five Horcruxes, she couldn't continue working at the Three Broomsticks. She let out a deep sigh, the brief moment of contentment disappearing at once. A painful knot tightened behind her navel. _Rosmerta_. Rosmerta, who had become such a great friend to her the very short period of time they had been co-workers – only six days to be precise.

Walking towards her bed, she lifted her pillow and picked up the Time-Turner.

_What to do?_ she thought, turning the hourglass. _What to do? _

* * *

"Miss, can I have a pint of mead, please?"

"Yes, of course, sir," she replied, smiling, and added, "Would you like to try our mulled mead? It's the house speciality."

"Ah, can't hurt, eh?" the old man chuckled. "You're the new waitress, then? My wife told me about you."

"Really?" said Dory as she poured the mulled mead into a large pint glass. "What did she say?"

The man's chuckle turned into laughter. "Nothing good, I'm afraid," the man went on. "But my wife tends to blow things a bit out of proportion. Alas, I can't always trust her judgement."

"It's that bad?" Dory grinned as she cast a Conflagration Spell on the pint of mead to warm it up. "Here it is. That'll be six Sickles."

"What can I say?" the man said, his heavily wrinkled face glowing with mirth. He handed her ten Sickles. "Keep the change."

"Thank you, sir."

The man took hold of his glass and sipped. "Ah, that's very good indeed – I shall go find myself a table now. I'll tell Margaret you said hello."

Dory watched him as he shuffled his way to a vacant table near the fireplace, her lips curling upward in amusement.

"Herm asked if we could clear the snow outside," Rosmerta said, emerging from the kitchen. She pointed towards the small cupboard under the stairs. "There are shovels right there – I know," she nodded agreeingly, seeing Dory's look of utter disbelieve. "I told you he didn't want us to become lazy. He can be a real git, yeah."

"He'll be watching us?" said Dory with an apprehensive look behind them, where Herm's scraggy form was shambling his way through the kitchen.

With a roll of her eyes, Rosmerta followed her line of sight. "Afraid so."

"I'll go grab the shovels, then…"

Ten minutes later, Dory and Rosmerta were bending and heaving to throw the enormous mounds of snow away from the pavement, the cold wind slamming against their bare faces and whipping at their hair.

"Circe," Rosmerta breathed, exhausted. She paused and rested her forearm on the shovel handle, wiping the sweat off her face. "I can't remember November ever being this snowy. Look, it reaches my knees!"

"The stupid thing is," Dory said as she looked around at the snowflakes swirling around them, "it'll be back in a few hours."

"A slave driver, that's what he is," muttered Rosmerta, angrily digging her shovel into another mountain of snow. "Well, it could've been worse – at least the snow's powdery…"

Humming an agreement, Dory went back to work – until something very cold hit her neck. She whirled round, glaring at Rosmerta, who was openly grinning at her.

"Did you just throw a snowball at me?" she said, her eyes narrowing, though the corner of her mouth was twitching.

"Who? Me?" said Rosmerta, blinking innocently. "Nev – OY!"

Dory's snowball had struck her squarely in the face, cutting off her words.

"Ooh, it's on!"

Laughs, shrieks and threats echoed through the street as they furiously pelted snowballs at each other. And finally, cold, soaked and panting, they fell backward, sighing simultaneously.

"Ha!" Dory said triumphantly. "I won!"

"You did not!" Rosmerta protested, breathing heavily. She crawled over to the window and dropped down right under it. "C'mon," she said, patting the wall, "come sit here, before Herm sees us."

Clambering her way through the snow, Dory said, "It's a miracle he hasn't come yet."

"Don't jinx it."

They looked at each other and very suddenly, out of nowhere, they broke into hysterical giggles. And once they began, they couldn't stop. Dory laughed and laughed until she was gasping for breath. The whole situation struck her as so incredibly hilarious – she supported her weight against the wall, still shrieking with laughter.

"_What _are you doing?"

Their gazes shot upwards; Herm's expression was one of unconcealed fury – his bristled brows were furrowed down into a horrible scowl, his clenched fist was raised frightfully in the air and his words were spoken menacingly: "I said, _what_ are you doing?"

"We're almost ready, Herm," replied Rosmerta, feigning frankness. "Just having a quick break. We'll be inside in a few minutes."

Herm still looked chagrined. "You better be. Otherwise no lunch break. Now, go back to work!" he barked angrily and then growled, "And no magic!"

And, with a deafening slam of the door, Herm went back inside.

"You _did _jinx it," Rosmerta commented, grinning quietly.

"You reckon he's looking out of the window right now?" Dory asked as she pointed at the window above them.

"Would you like to check?"

She smiled pleasantly. "I'd rather not."

A lone figure passed them, his steps hurried but smooth. The street wasn't very busy, which made his presence even more conspicuous. The man – boy? – drew his cloak more tightly around his neck and glanced around. It was then that Dory caught sight of his face.

At first she thought it was Sirius, maybe keeping his promise to see her again. But even though the resemblance was indisputable, this boy's frame was thinner, his features were less sharp and his expression was grimmer, darker. That didn't make his posture less haughty – downright arrogant even.

Regulus Black looked just like he did in the pictures Dory had seen in his room at Grimmauld Place.

The first thing Dory thought as her eyes shot towards the youngest Black brother was, _what is _he_ doing here? _She watched him move along the street with stunned fascination – this was her chance. Of course, R.A.B., Regulus Black, who would turn against his master in the future, could help her!

"I – I need to go," she rasped and scrambled to her feet. "Tell Herm I'll be back soon. I just need to –"

She had to be quick; Regulus had disappeared out of sight when he had slid into one of the narrow side-streets.

"What? – Dory!"

Ignoring Rosmerta's yells, Dory scurried down the main road, peering into the shadowy alleyways, until she finally noticed a movement on her right; Regulus's  
dark-clad form had darted into the Hog's Head. She followed him to the end of the street. Stomping the snow off her shoes, she stared up at the Hog's Head's obscure shape which loomed before her. Several candles illuminated the windows. Dory tried to see through them, but they were too dingy.

_There it goes_, she thought and took a deep breath before entering. A thick layer of grease lay on the wooden tables, the sawdust bar was encrusted with dirt and cobwebs clung to every corner, but still – this pub gave Dory a sense of security. This grubby little inn had been the beginning of the end; reuniting with Neville, with Dumbledore's Army, Voldemort's downfall…

Dory's eyes scanned the room: Behind the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore, less lined than she remembered him, was bent over a Daily Prophet, his thin fingers curled around a steamy mug of tea. There was also a small group of wizards huddled together in the darkest corner of the pub. Dory recognized one of them as Regulus. Their heads were bowed over a piece of parchment and they seemed to be in a very heated discussion.

She slid soundlessly in one of the chairs, one table removed from the four cloaked wizards in the corner. Their voices immediately dropped to whispers.

Aberforth prowled towards her table and his bright blue eyes, hidden by filthy lenses, travelled to her face.

"What?" he grumbled. Even though his voice was impolitely rough, it only amplified Dory's feeling of comfort.

"A cup of tea, please," Dory replied softly, digging into her pocket and handing him her last few silver coins. "And have you got a Daily Prophet?"

Aberforth grunted and sidled back to the bar.

Dory sat motionless, straining her ears to hear the group's hushed conversation. She anxiously watched as Aberforth disappeared in the backroom, hoping he would return soon. She was raising suspicion now – with a Daily Prophet she would at least look occupied.

"…in the Christmas holidays…" one of them was saying.

"How many?" another asked.

"Three," murmured the man. He jerked a thumb at Regulus. "Black, Avery and Mulciber."

"And wh–"

"Tea," said Aberforth, brusquely placing the mug on the table, spilling half its contents doing so, "and the Daily Prophet."

Dory smiled. "Thank you," she said, unable to keep the warmth out of her voice – she would be eternally grateful to him for saving her and her friends' life _twice_. Besides, she genuinely liked Aberforth and admired his courageous nature, no matter how unintentional it might be.

Opening the newspaper, Dory refocused on Regulus and his company. They were still speaking in low tones and occasionally shooting her sceptic glances, but they did look less concerned. After all, Dory was a _girl_, very short and almost laughably fragile-looking.

"…couldn't they come?"

"It would be too suspicious," replied Regulus. "Sneaking out of Hogwarts on my own was hard enough."

"How did you get out?" a younger, broad-shouldered wizard asked.

"That doesn't matter."

There was a moment of prickly silence before a vaguely familiar voice said, "The Dark Lord has planned another attack in December. He expects you to participate."

"Naturally," said Regulus evenly, but there was an underlying tone of excitement in his voice, as though the idea truly thrilled him.

"In London," continued the man – _Dolohov! _Dory realized with a start. "Rosier and I will be there as well." He leaned in closer, his voice lowering to an almost inaudible whisper, "We will gather at the headquarters."

"When will the attack take place?" one questioned.

Dory looked up to see Dolohov smirking wickedly. "On Christmas Day, of course. We'll show those _Muggles_," he spat the name as though it was a filth on his tongue, "the true meaning of the word 'celebration'."

The other men mimicked his malicious chuckle.

"So, Black," one of them addressed Regulus. Dory's eyes fell upon his face, illuminated by the candlelight, and her stomach twisted – _Macnair_. "Why is the Dark Lord so interested in _you_, a sixteen-year-old, who hasn't even completed his education yet?"

Regulus's look was very cold. "I wouldn't know; you should ask him yourself."

"The Dark Lord has his own reasons," the younger, unnamed man stated. "We shouldn't put them in doubt." And then, with startling quickness, he got to his feet. "I think we've discussed enough. Dolohov, Macnair, you're coming with me. Black, don't forget what I've said."

All three men nodded. Dolohov mumbled something in Regulus's ear and his malevolent eyes flew to Dory, who looked down hurriedly – _the Death Eater ripped off his mask and pointed his wand directly at Dory's chest, his beady eyes flickering hungrily over to the prophecy in her hand before snapping to hers… _

Dolohov and Macnair rose to their feet, but Regulus remained seated. Only when the other three men had left, he also got up from his chair. Dory's stomach did a nervous flip and she kept her eyes fixed on the newspaper as he slowly walked towards her table.

Once he was standing right in front of her, his steps halted.

"What did you hear?"

Dory looked up. "Excuse me?"

"What did you hear?" he repeated, watching her through narrowed eyes – the same shade as Sirius's. Regulus's, however, promised troubles and secrets so dark they couldn't possibly be those of his brother. "And don't lie."

Jutting her chin defiantly, Dory said, "Why would I be lying? I'm just sitting here drinking my morning tea."

"I saw you, earlier." He took seat, back straight and shoulders squared like the good little pureblood prince he was. "At the Three Broomsticks."

"All right. And?"

"You followed me," accused Regulus.

"I didn't," Dory disagreed. "The Three Broomsticks can be a little too crowded. I like to read my newspaper in silence."

He snorted, apparently unable to stop himself. "But why the Hog's Head?"

"There are only two pubs in Hogsmeade, aren't there?" she said airily and took a sip of her – now cold – tea.

"There are…" Regulus said slowly. He seemed to realize they had strayed from the subject, because he said, again, "What did you hear?"

"I wasn't really listening," Dory lied, putting down the newspaper.

He arched his eyebrows at her answer. "I'm not _stupid_."

"I never said you were."

"Are you a pure-blood?" Regulus asked, quite unexpectedly.

"Why do you want to know?" Dory retorted. Her stomach quivered – she needed to be on Regulus's good side if she wanted him to help her destroying the Horcruxes. Knowing Regulus from Sirius's bitter stories about the Black family, he would loath her instantly if she introduced herself as the foreign Muggle-born girl she had been pretending to be.

"You're not Muggle-born, I can tell," he said, his grey eyes lingering on her face. He looked sure of himself. "No, you're not a Muggle-born."

"How can you tell?" queried Dory, truly curious.

"It's – that doesn't matter. What's your surname?"

"What's yours?"

"Black," he said, pride and arrogance colouring his voice, and for a flickering second, as he pushed his hair out of his eyes and the corners of his lips curled upwards oh-so haughtily, he was the spitting image of his brother. "Regulus Black."

Panic seized her; the Blacks probably had hundreds of books and directories listing all pure-blood family trees. What if he looked her up?

"I'm Dorea," she told him.

"Dorea…?"

"Yes, Dorea."

"You're not going to tell me your surname, are you?" mused Regulus, and the proud smirk morphed into a disdainful sneer.

Dory smiled playfully, running her finger around the rim of her mug. "You'll have to guess."

He scowled. "I'm not going to _guess_," he jeered, as though he was above such plebeian things.

"All right then," she said, feigning casualness by reopening the Daily Prophet and austerely scanning the headlines.

"You're not a Mudblood, are you?" Regulus asked. His voice had a frustrated edge to it.

Hiding a smile, Dory shook her head and said, "No." She looked up, giving him an even look. "No, I'm not."

"And –"

_Just like Sirius_, she noted, remembering Sirius's endless questions from the day before.

"What's with all the questions?" she said.

His eyes darkened as he leaned forward. "You overheard us – don't deny it, I know you did. I saw you looking at us. Are you working for Dumbledore?" He was all business now.

"I'm not," said Dory, striving to keep her voice cool. "I don't even know Albus Dumbledore," _in this time_, she added silently.

"What's your opinion on the war?"

Dory's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I –" she began. What would be the smartest thing to say? "I haven't chosen a side – and I won't do that in the future, either. The –" She swallowed thickly and readjusted the mug in her hands, "Dark Lord has valid points, but I condemn his course of action. Dumbledore… he's fighting a losing battle."

_Lies. Lies. Lies. _

Regulus stared at her for several moments, but his look was indecipherable – his words just as empty as his eyes when he spoke, "All right then."

"Now tell me yours."

"You want me to tell you my opinion on the war?" Seeing Dory's confirmatory nod, he continued, "I – why should I tell you?"

"I told you mine, it's only fair you tell me yours," she replied with a noncommittal shrug.

His eyes left hers and moved ceaselessly around the room, seeing nothing. "I'll tell you mine," he drawled, "if you tell me your surname."

_How very Slytherin of you_. "Hm," Dory said, fingering the handle of her mug, "I guess I'll have to live without knowing your views on the war, then, won't I?"

"You are infuriating," Regulus stated, a certain kind of agitation entering his voice.

"That's not a very nice thing to say," she told him sternly and his annoyed frown deepened. She stood up, tucking the newspaper under her arm. "I have to go back to work now – it was very nice meeting you, Regulus."

Regulus didn't move, neither did he reply. It wasn't until she had reached the door that he said, "Do you come here often?"

Even though he had spoken almost inaudibly soft, the words seemed to oscillate through the room. Dory looked down, hiding the triumphant smile that was playing on her lips. She had caught his attention.

She turned around. "Every Sunday, nine o'clock."

* * *

**A/N: And that's Regulus! We'll see a lot more of him in the future (past?). Sorry for the lateness… I was in Greece, celebrating that finals are OVER! **

**Thank you for the reviews, favs and alerts. You guys are so sweet :) **

**Kisses! **


	9. Mad World

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. timetravel. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**Mad World **

"Look, girlie…"

The candle was nearing its end; the fire stuttered uncertainly, as though it knew it couldn't give up just yet. Its flickering light fell vaporously upon Herm's face, emphasising his many wrinkles and bony cheekbones. _He looks so old_, Dory thought idly, _and so sad_.

"I gave you the opportunity to work here," he said. His rough voice didn't match his morose look. "I don't know you, I don't even like you – and still, I gave you that opportunity. You'd think you owe me something."

"Herm, really, I'm very grateful for –"

"It sure doesn't look like it, now does it?" snarled Herm. He glared down at her. "You can't just leave when you've got a job to do, girl! Who do you think you are? I shouldn't have given you this chance in the first place…"

"Then," Dory started, gazing back fiercely, "you'll just have to fire me."

Herm scrutinized her face, his gaze resting upon the pale, almost invisible scar that marred her forehead. The corners of his lips dipped in disdain. "There is something about you," he spoke slowly, his cracking voice dripping with distrust, "something not right."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Dory, avoiding eye-contact. "I told you, if you want me gone, you should fire me. I can't keep working here forever, can I? I'm not like Rosmerta…"

"You got that right!" Herm reviled. "Rosmerta's a hard worker, does her job when she needs to! You! You are a lazy, idle, unproductive loafer, you are! Tell me, girl, when have you ever been useful to me? That's right, not once! Never!"

_"A no-account, good-for-nothing scrounger who –" Aunt Marge was saying…_

"Shut up!" Dory said heatedly. "Shut up!"

_"…nasty little liar!" _

"Shut up!"

_I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies… _

"It's the truth!" Herm yelled, just as furious as she was. "You are lying, girl! A liar! You are lying about everything, including your own name!"

Heat raced through her body. The void in her chest began to fill itself with white-hot anger, a tempest ready to strike. Dory tried to force the anger down, but there was something peculiarly gratifying about the rage taking hold of her – liberating almost.

"You don't know a thing," she said sharply. Her hands clenched in fists, unclenched, and clenched again.

Herm let out a humourless chuckle. "Oh, I know. Stop being ignorant, you foolish girl."

"No, you don't!" she howled, finding herself on her feet.

There was something satisfying in the bitterness. _She _was the one trapped twenty years in the past, _she _was the one trying to deal with it and _she _was the one doing everything to adjust herself to the situation! What did he know? Nothing. Dory felt her hands grow hot with senseless fury. He knew nothing!

"I do!" growled Herm.

"Tell me, then!" she shouted, fighting the urge to throw something.

Herm eyed her distrustfully. "Why should I?" he questioned aggressively. "I just said I don't trust you. I don't like you. Look at you now – you can't even control your temper."

Her heart was beating faster than ever. That was when she stopped caring. Why should she care? She had always been like this; fierce, quick to anger, her temper terrifying and unpredictable. Dory knew this. She knew that her words could be deeply damaging when she was angry. Hermione's teary eyes, Ron's gaping mouth and Ginny's pursed lips had been the proof of that.

"Look who's talking," she simpered, venom coating her words. "You criticize everything. I can't do anything right in your eyes. And instead of telling me how I should do it, you keep degrading me! What kind of boss are you?"

Herm's nostrils flared, his eyes flashed and his hands closed to fists. "Shut your mouth, you silly girl, before I do something –"

"No."

"_What _did you say –?"

"No," Dory repeated defiantly.

"That's it," Herm said in a dangerously low voice. "You've crossed the line – you don't want to work here anymore? Fine with me. You're fired."

"Fine," she said crossly, completely aware of how childish she sounded. She walked to the door, her heart beating furiously in her chest. "Best of luck, _Herm_."

She stormed through the corridors, glaring at every witch or wizard that dared to cross her path, to her room. With a harsh yank, she opened the door and headed straight for her bed, throwing away the pillow and picking up that awful Time-Turner.

"Bring me back!" she demanded. "I want to go back!"

Nothing.

Angrily, she hurled it against the wall. She was ready to cry, to scream – but she wouldn't. She wouldn't cry anymore; she had promised herself that years ago. A promise hadn't been able to keep after the war had ended, after Fred, Remus, Tonks –

"No," she told herself, forcing herself not to think about such things.

_"We must not dwell on the past, Dorea," Professor Dumbledore said solemnly, "but battle on…"_

But she just wanted to go away; back to her own time, Horcruxes be damned. She had been – still was – incredibly bitter about Ron and Hermione's newfound relationship, but she missed them terribly. And of course she was happy for them; she had seen it coming long before the actual romance had started. But –

_Hermione lay on the sofa, her arm dangly curved to the floor, her fingers inches removed from Ron's… _

"I just want to go back!" she yelled at the Time-Turner laying irritatingly undamaged on the floor.

She started collecting the very little possessions she had – several pieces of clothing, a toothbrush and a small bag containing the Galleons she had earned in the short time she had been working at the Three Broomsticks. At last, she grabbed the Time-Turner from the floor, turning it one more time before tucking it in her pocket.

"Firewhiskey," she ordered Rosmerta as she dropped down on one of the barstools.

"What happened? You look ghastly," fretted Rosmerta worriedly, eyeing Dory's pale face and rather wild appearance. Her frown deepened when Dory didn't answer, but only took a few Sickles from her pocket and handed them over. "Dory, you're not going to pay for that, you work here."

"Not anymore," snapped Dory. She tapped her fingers against the bar, a telltale sign of impatience.

"Now, now," Rosmerta chastised. "No need to be so mean. C'mon, I'm going to get you a Butterbeer – and don't look at me like that," she added when Dory cast her an irate look, "and you're calmly going to explain to me what happened."

"We got into a fight," admitted Dory, her voice a bit hoarse from screaming so much. "Herm and I – he sacked me."

Rosmerta's eyes widened in horror. "He _sacked _you? No, he couldn't have done that!"

"He has," Dory said. "He said he doesn't trust me and my work's not good enough."

"But we're severely understaffed right now," Rosmerta frowned. She sounded miserable. "But, Dory, you can't go. It's so much more fun with you 'round."

"Just because I'm not working here doesn't mean I'm not staying," Dory said, giving her a small, forced smile. "I reckon I've got enough money for at least two weeks."

"Only two weeks?" echoed Rosmerta. "But, Dory… can't you, just maybe, try talking to Herm?"

"Of course not!" Dory said, annoyed. "I'm not going to apologise to him, Rosmerta."

"You don't have to apologise," said Rosmerta as she grabbed a bottle of Butterbeer from beneath the bar. "Would you like it warm or cold?"

"Cold's fine," Dory murmured. She took the bottle and wrenched the top open. "And I don't want to talk to Herm – later maybe, but definitely not now, okay?"

Rosmerta looked as though she wanted to say something. "It's just –" she started, but cut herself off by shaking her head. She opened her mouth again, but no words came out. Then she uttered, "Herm – he…"

"What?" Dory said testily.

"I don't think it's my place to tell…" Rosmerta explained, hesitation colouring her words.

Dory took a deep breath, trying to settle herself. "You can tell me," she said invitingly, her voice warmer. "Really, it's not as if I'm going to have any deep conversations with Herm anytime soon. Besides, maybe I'll be able to understand him a little better."

"I don't know…"

"It's a very big secret, then?"

"It's not a secret, not really," said Rosmerta, giving her a sidelong glance. "It's just something he told me… in confidence, I think."

_Isn't that the same? _"Then you can tell me, right?"

"All right then," she yielded. She let out a heavy sigh. "But don't let on that you know, will you?"

"Of course not," smiled Dory.

"Herm he… he fought in the wizarding war of 1940," Rosmerta began in a leaden voice. "In Germany, I believe. He didn't want to go in the first place, but his wife insisted –"

_Herm had a wife? _Dory thought, grimacing.

"– as she was befriended with Albus Dumbledore and wanted to fight for the Light. Herm tried to convince her to stay in Britain, but his wife wouldn't take no for an answer. She hated all things 'evil', which Grindelwald was, in her opinion. So they did go… and," Rosmerta sighed again, "it did go well, the first few years at least. His wife was a very powerful witch and Herm's rather humble about it, but I _know _he's a great wizard."

There was a fondness in her voice that Dory had never heard from Rosmerta before. She realized Rosmerta genuinely cared for Herm. She frowned – she had been underestimating the bond between the two.

"They mainly fought in the background, but managed to defeat a large number of Grindelwald's followers." There was an ominous silence before Rosmerta went on, "But then, in 1945, not a month before the war had ended, Herm's wife, she… she was killed. Dumbledore had decided he would finally confront Grindelwald. The end was nearing – Herm said they'd been too careless, they'd put too much faith in Dumbledore's promising words… They hadn't been expecting Grindelwald's last attack."

A stunned silence filled the air when she was finished. At loss for words, Dory looked down, feeling strangely empty. She wanted to feel sorry for Herm – she really did, but there was something holding her back from caring. The crease between her eyebrows deepened; where did this lack of compassion come from? She had always been so quick to place herself in somebody else's skin.

"Wow," she murmured. Thirst vanished, she moved the bottle of Butterbeer aside.

"Look, I'm not saying that's the reason of his hostility, but it does explain his abnormal suspicious nature," said Rosmerta. She shot Dory a supportive smile and nodded towards a young couple that had just entered. "Go on, go help them."

Shaking her head, Dory said, "Rosmerta, I may somewhat understand Herm now, but that doesn't change the fact that he fired me."

"He'll come around, he will," said Rosmerta as pushed herself off the bar and picked up the serving tray. "I'll be back in a minute."

Dory didn't watch her leave. She stared at her bottle pensively, looking but not really seeing as Rosmerta's words tumbled over and over in her mind. She pitied the old man, felt sorry for him, but that was it – she merely _pitied _him. As sad as his past was, it didn't give him an excuse to act so cruel all the time. Andromeda had lost her husband in war as well and she didn't turn into a bitter old lady.

"Dory, fancy seeing you here!"

She reeled, shocked. Her eyes widened as she saw who it was. "Sirius, you startled me!"

He grinned broadly. "Guilty conscience, eh?"

"You caught me," said Dory, smiling. Curiously, she looked around, eyebrows drawn together. "Where are your friends? You seem like a pretty tight-knit group."

"I reckon James will come later on; he's got Head Boy duties to do." There was a hint of scorn in his voice as he said this. "Remus and Peter are studying for their NEWTs. I was bored. Then I remembered my promise to you and decided to grace you with my presence."

"Why, I've never felt so honoured," she said wryly.

"That's not at all surprising."

"Shouldn't you be studying, too, then?"

"Nah," said Sirius, waving a hand dismissively, "I know it all already."

"Self-assured, are you?" Dory grinned back, happy with the distraction he provided. Sirius was _home_; she knew Sirius. His presence gave her a sense of familiarity. It was… nice.

He shrugged. "Healthy confidence, if you ask me."

"Or unhealthy arrogance."

"You're calling me arrogant?"

Dory couldn't help but laugh – his humour was infectious. "Indirectly, maybe."

"You're laughing," Sirius remarked unexpectedly, a certain kind of pride in his voice.

"You sound amazed."

"Not amazed," he said, leaning against the bar. His grey eyes traced across her face and Dory shifted her weight, wondering what he was seeing. "You were looking kind of gloomy sitting here. I didn't think it'd be so easy to cheer you up – what happened?"

Avoiding his eyes, Dory played with the cap of her long-forgotten bottle.

"I just lost my job," she said.

"What did you do?"

"I, eh… wasn't very nice to him."

Sirius let out a bark-like laugh; it was a deep and raspy sound and Dory found herself enjoying listening to it. She closed her eyes. _Finally_, she thought, _something I recognize_. Then she opened them again and looked up at him, eagerly drinking in his features. His face deeply moved her. Why, she didn't now at first. His eyes; they were so hauntingly familiar, yet completely strange. Untouched by Azkaban and its noxious claws, he glowed with serenity and health.

She had been deprived from him for so long – too long. Sirius' presence offered something that even her father's couldn't: familiarity, something she could hold on to.

"Well," he said, his lips quirking into an amused smile, "you're a jobless woman with loads of time on her hands now." His hand closed around her elbow, urging her to stand up. "C'mon, we're going for a walk."

"Why?"

Sirius half-shrugged. "Dunno – I just don't like standing still."

Dory's mouth curled upwards; somehow, that didn't surprise her.

"Wait a minute, will you? I'll let Rosmerta know we –" she said, but Rosmerta was already holding her thumbs up. She cast Dory an encouraging smile and mouthed 'go'.

"There it is," Sirius grinned.

The blizzard had died down long ago, and it was now possible to enjoy the houses and shops smothered in the unmarred, gem-dusted whiteness. Twilight was falling: the sky turning a dusky purple, littered with frosty pink streaks and tiny stars. The overall effect was beautiful and, in Dory's opinion, the village of Hogsmeade had never looked as ethereal as it did now.

"What're you going to do?" Sirius asked, turning his head to glance at her. "Now that you're fired, I mean."

"No idea," admitted Dory. "I'll stay in Hogsmeade as long as I've got enough money, but after that… Maybe I should go to the Hog's Head, it'd be a lot cheaper to stay there, wouldn't it?"

"There's a difference between quality and quantity, dear Dory," he told her, sounding very wise. Then he warned, "I don't think staying at the Hog's Head is a very good idea, to put it lightly. Aberforth's a nice bloke and all, but the place itself is a bit dodgy, if you ask me."

Raising an eyebrow, Dory said, "But you've been there, if you know Aberforth."

"Visiting and staying are two completely different things."

"We'll see what happens – maybe Herm will have a sudden change of heart," Dory said. She added a shrug, using nonchalance to cover up her worry. _Maybe I could buy a tent… _But the idea of having to live in a tent again filled her with dread. She vividly remembered the never-ending forage for food, the unbearable loneliness, the constant frustration… _Merlin, please no_. A flat, a house? No, she didn't have enough money.

"I'm looking for a place to live, too," commented Sirius.

"Oh?" said Dory, feigning surprise. "Aren't you living with your parents?"

His face darkened considerably. "No. I ran away from home about a year ago. James' parents took me in, so I camp out there in the holidays. But right now I really want a place to call my own, y'know?"

"I know…" she said softly. Then she asked "Have you already been looking for places?"

"Yeah, I'm planning to rent a flat in central London. James and I went there this summer – it's a nice enough place."

"And you're living with James and his parents at the moment?"

Sirius nodded. "They're great; practically adopted me as their second son."

"That's very kind of them," Dory murmured as they passed Zonko's Joke Shop.

Sirius slowed and eventually halted his steps to peer through the windows. An array of joke products, such as Dungbombs, Frog Spawn Soaps and Nose-Biting Teacups, was jumbled upon the display; their colours so violent they made Dory's eyes water. Sirius, however, didn't blink once. He seemed to be utterly awed – _and he's eighteen? _Dory disguised her laugh as a cough.

"Are you laughing at me?" he said. He turned around, casting her an offended look.

"Maybe. Didn't you visit this shop two weeks ago?"

"I did, yeah – why?"

Dory shook her head. "Never mind. Let's go, it's not as if we can buy anything," she told him, pointing at the sign pasted on the door, on which luminous green letters indicated that Zonko's was '_closed_'.

"Maybe we can go later," said Sirius casually.

Her eyes snapped back to his. "We?"

The smug stretch of his lips spread. "Yes, we." He reached out, tugging on the sleeve of her cloak. "You wanted to walk on, didn't you?"

They continued to stroll through Hogsmeade's narrow streets in silence. Dory averted her eyes to avoid Sirius' probing gaze and looked skywards. Twilight was fading away; the stars, one by one, clutter themselves silently across the lavender-hued sky and the moon lingered ghostly in the middle, its right edge dimming into darkness, so close to being full, but not quite there.

"It must've been full moon a few days ago," she said unthinkingly.

Sirius' voice was very nonchalant. "Yeah, it was – last Sunday."

Dory hummed. That explained Remus' worn-out appearance when he had come to visit the Three Broomsticks two weeks ago. "It looks beautiful, doesn't it?" she said, her eyes not leaving the work of art above them.

"Yeah," he replied. She could almost hear him smiling. "It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty night, don't you think?"

"What do you have in mind?"

He nudged her with his shoulder. "You tell me. Is there a part of Hogsmeade you haven't seen yet?"

"I don't think so," said Dory, tearing her gaze away from the sky to look at him. "I think I've seen everything by now."

"Even the Shrieking Shack?"

"Of course not," she said untruthfully. "It's haunted… nobody goes in there."

Sirius smirked secretively, as though he was sharing a joke with someone who wasn't there. "But I asked if you've _seen _it, not if you went in there."

"Then, yes, I did. But we can still go there – everything's better than Madam Puddifoot's."

"You've been to Madam Puddifoot's?" Sirius sniggered.

She turned her head, flustered. "No, Rosmerta told me about it."

"Right," he said, disbelieve lacing his tone. Something unreadable passed over his eyes. "I wouldn't be surprised, y'know, if you _did _go there. You're a very pretty girl."

_Is he flirting? _Dory thought, baffled. _Dear Merlin, no_. "You're prettier than me, Sirius."

"Pretty?" he echoed, sounding ridiculed. "You're calling me _pretty_? Can't you at least call me something more – masculine?"

She smiled in spite of herself. "Handsome?"

His shoulders relaxed and he ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, yes," Sirius said on a sigh of relief. "But I already knew that. You're not very creative, are you?"

"And you're not very modest," she snorted.

"Healthy confidence, Dory," Sirius tut-tutted severely.

They crossed the street. Dory's eyes followed the few people hurrying past them; strangers. She wasn't just surrounded by strangers, she realized, but she was a stranger herself. These passers-by were making their way through the very same day as she was, but still, there was a gap between her and them – a gap she couldn't bridge because she didn't belong here.

Eyes shut, she focused on Sirius' presence beside her. _Home_. And suddenly, she felt content – no, it was something thicker than that; some sense of being truly, honestly, just for that one brief moment, at home.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Sirius' smile was warmer and softer than she had expected. "Anytime."

The moment didn't seem to last long enough. The snow stopped groaning under their feet as they halted in front of the Three Broomsticks. The breeze stilled, the feeling was gone, the fears and worries crept in again.

She stared at the dark, quiet inn in front of her, grasped the doorknob and walked back into her life.

* * *

**A/N: Herm's past and some Sirius/Dory interaction! Thank you for the sweet reviews – loved them! Excuse me if I didn't reply – life's a mess at the moment. Finding a job, uni, graduation stuff, moving out of the house… Hopefully July will be less busy. **

**Kisses! **


	10. Factual Shortcuts

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. timetravel. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**Factual Shortcuts **

_"Does he know when a Horcrux is destroyed, sir? Can he feel it?" _

_"A very interesting question, Dorea. I believe not. I believe that Voldemort is now so immersed in evil, and these crucial parts of himself have been detached for so long, he does not feel as we do…"_

Popping another piece of chocolate into her mouth, Dory stared at the Daily Prophet spread out on her table. Horror, corruption, killings, disappearances… She had never liked reading the newspaper. She would rather hear bad news from someone in person – she would hear it once, and that would be the end of it. When it was written down, she was forced to read the words again and again until they refused to leave her mind.

The Daily Prophet could be considered an unsolvable puzzle: every article was a poorly-cut cardboard piece, and no matter how you put them together, gaps remained, oddly-shaped blank spaces mapped by what surrounded them. The wizarding news was an enigma to all.

Two anonymous witches were murdered in Liverpool on Saturday 3 December. One's life had ended early in the afternoon, the other's late in the evening. Two completely different columns – one on the front page, announced in big, fat letters, the other on page two, in the bottom left corner. Were these murders committed by the same person? Was it planned? Were Death Eaters involved? – or worse, was Voldemort himself?

On top of that, a Muggle family was killed in Bootle that very same day. Utter coincidence, it seemed.

Complete chaos, it was.

Amid all this, Dory would have to break into Gringotts, slip into Hogwarts and gain access to the cave where Slytherin's locket would be stored. As the last one required extremely powerful magic, not to mention a second person, she would have to wait at least two years – _two years! _– before she could find and destroy the locket.

"You know," a slightly sneering voice spoke above her, "I've been standing here for almost five minutes."

Straightening her shoulders, Dory lifted her gaze and found a pair of stoic grey eyes staring darkly back. "You came."

"Would you like something to drink?" Regulus asked with a nod towards the bar. His voice had turned lighter, but there still was an undertone of displeasure in it, as though offering a drink was some kind of obligation.

When Dory shook her head and held up her mug of hot chocolate, he sat down in the other chair. Casual indifference remained plastered on his face and marked every move he made – it annoyed her to no end. _Great,_ _he's going to be overly polite_, which meant they would talk of nothing that might actually prove interesting.

His face kept the cool, closed expression; rigidly restrained and very hard to read.

"You look stressed," Dory told him airily. She reached for the bar of Honeydukes' Best Chocolate she had been devouring, waved it from side to side and asked him in a way that would warm Remus Lupin's heart, "Chocolate?"

"No, thank you."

"All right…" she said slowly, taking a bite herself. She hadn't eaten breakfast yet and her stomach was groaning in protest, even after the whole block of chocolate she had already wolfed down. "You're sure?"

Regulus eyed her critically. "I'm not very partial to chocolate."

"There must be something wrong with you," Dory said, putting down the chocolate bar and taking a huge gulp of her hot chocolate. "Who doesn't like chocolate? Surely you're lying."

"I'm not," he said, sounding exasperated. He looked at the mug of hot chocolate, the Honeydukes' chocolate bar and the empty wrapper laying next to it. "You have quite a healthy appetite."

Dory swallowed and explained, "Just very hungry."

"So I've noticed."

Taking another bite, she continued, "And I really, _really _love chocolate – I can't get enough of it."

"Hmm."

"Hmm?" she repeated, irritated. "Could you give me some normal answers? Really, all those short answers and stupid noises make you come across – well, Inferi-ish."

Regulus blinked and his lips tipped into the smallest, barely-there smile. _He has a nice smile_, Dory thought absentmindedly, noticing the way it lightened up his eyes and sliced little dimples into his cheeks. _He should smile more often_.

"Inferi-ish?" he said, the smile quickly morphing into polite and somewhat bored amusement. "I didn't come here to talk about chocolate, or my conversational habits for that matter, Miss…?"

"Dorea, I've already told you."

"You're still not going to tell me your surname?"

"Someday, maybe," Dory replied vaguely. Then she asked, "If you don't like chocolate, what _do _you like? Sprouts, broccoli?"

Regulus ignored her and went on, "You didn't go to Hogwarts – I've never seen you before. Where did you learn magic?"

"How do you know I'm not a Squib?"

"You have a wand," Regulus said, nodding towards her left sleeve. Dory hadn't even noticed he had been scrutinizing her, let alone her sleeves. Following his gaze, she frowned. The sleeves of her robes went past her fingertips – how did he know? "I saw you putting it in your sleeve last week. Squibs," one corner of his upper lip raised slightly, "don't have wands."

"I know that," Dory muttered, helping herself to another piece of chocolate to cover up her discomfort.

"Well? Where did you learn magic?"

Her reply was almost automatic, "Beauxbatons." One of the little lies she had been consistent with. "Why do you want to know?"

"That doesn't matter," dismissed Regulus. "Did you grow up in France?"

Dory folded her arms and said, "Listen to me, and listen good. You're asking me all these questions, but you won't answer any of mine. Ask me what you want to ask me, and I'll answer or not if I like. But at least try to answer some of mine, too. That's only fair. We'll either have a deal, or you can go."

Regulus's eyes flashed with anger. Dory didn't shrink. She liked him angry – anything was better than cold indifference. So she pushed further. "Go, then."

A prickly silence greeted her rant. That was, until he spoke, "The Dark Lord's ideal is to make the world safer for proper wizards and witches and get rid of the uncontrollable factor – Muggle-borns. I agree with that. You said last week you condemn his course of action. I don't. Yes, a few people might get hurt in the progress, but it's all for the greater good. Muggle-borns are unreliable. They're endangering our secrecy." His words were laced with pride – Black pride – and he sounded completely convinced of every word he said. "I've answered your question. That's my opinion on the war. Now it's your turn to answer mine."

Dory contemplated his speech. Every word had come across so… resolute. Seeing the firm determination written on his face, she wondered his abrupt change of sides; even though she knew his story – no, his _future_, she realized dazedly.

"I… I grew up in Britain, actually. My family's French…" she said faintly. "That's why I went to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts."

_He's so young_, she thought, _Just a kid_. Acting, lying and deceiving his way through life, just like she was. The difference was that Regulus actually believed in those lies, whereas she was aware of every untruthful word that passed her lips. Later, much later, he would realize he had been lying to himself the whole time. Saying that a lie requires two people was untrue – a big, fat lie itself.

She pushed the chocolate aside, knowing that her attempts to keep the conversation light had failed. "You know…" she murmured. "The stupidity of war never ceases to amaze me. It's not even truly a war – just an act of self-defence against a homicidal maniac. In 1940, now," _and in the future_. "Every time. The same goals, the same power-hungry followers. Europe points to Britain, Britain points to the Death Eaters and the Death Eaters point to their master. It's all very tiresome, really."

"Speaking from experience?" Regulus said quietly, his expression thoughtful.

"Not necessarily. This," Dory tapped the unfolded newspaper with her finger, "tells me enough."

"The Dark Lord's followers aren't 'necessarily' power-hungry, either," said Regulus carefully. "Maybe they're trying to show people the proper way. Some people need to be shown how it really works, and they won't understand without demonstration."

Dory raised her eyebrows. "You consider torture and murder to be demonstrations?"

"It's all for the greater good," Regulus replied, his forehead wrinkling into a frustrated frown. Then he said, "You don't sound very neutral to me. I thought you hadn't taken a side in this war?"

"I haven't," she told him. "I also told you I criticize his conduct. No matter how… noble his goals are, the end doesn't justify the means."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe I don't," Dory said, "but that's up to you to decide."

"Cryptic, are you?" Regulus murmured. They were silent for several moments before he continued, "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be going back to work?"

She grabbed the chocolate bar again. "I'm not working at the Three Broomsticks anymore."

"That didn't last very long, did it?" he drawled, eyeing her in a contemptuous way as she greedily ate the chocolate. "Your manners are –"

Dory swallowed. "I know, I know. They're pretty bad." She looked down sadly, as though briefly grieving over them. She blamed Ron. "I used to be a very well-mannered girl…"

"You're a terrible liar."

On the contrary, she was a fantastic one.

* * *

"Where have _you_ been?" Rosmerta asked as Dory entered the Three Broomsticks. "You've been gone for almost two hours!"

"It's been that long?" Dory said, surprised, and glanced up at the train station clock. Almost eleven o'clock. "I didn't even notice…"

"What did you do, then?"

"Just some shopping," she replied distractedly.

Dropping down on a barstool, Dory reached into her back pocket and pulled out the little bag of earned money. _Twenty-six Galleons, six Sickles and eight Knuts_, she counted, closing her fingers around a bronze coin. _It's a start_.

"I saw you've packed your things," said Rosmerta, sounding the tiniest bit betrayed. "And now you're counting your money – are you honestly staying here for another two weeks?"

"I am. I promised you, didn't I?" said Dory as she put the money back in the bag. "But I really need to find somewhere else to stay." And quickly added, "Preferably, a place of my own."

Rosmerta crossed her arms and stared at her. "Can't you just apologise to Herm? You're being infuriatingly stubborn, you know."

Letting out a weary sigh, Dory replied, "Look, I didn't plan on staying anyway. Given, I did plan on working here a little bit longer than three weeks, but, apparently, it wasn't meant to be. Besides, I promise I'll visit every week, if that makes you feel better."

"Yeah, but…"

Seeing Rosmerta's haggard expression, Dory took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "You've become a great friend, Rosmerta. I'm not just going to let you go."

"Fine," she said reluctantly. "But I still think you're being incredibly thick-headed about this."

"But I'm right. _Herm's _the one being unfair about this," protested Dory. "He accuses me of –"

"Uh-huh," interrupted Rosmerta, reaching beneath the counter and pulling up two bottles of ice-cold Butterbeer. She cast an apologetic look at the chagrined-looking pair of men seated at the other end of the bar. "It doesn't matter, Dory – wait, I'll be right back."

Dory shook her head. "I can't," she said and rose to her feet. "I'm going to Diagon Alley. I need to change," She lifted the money bag and shook it. "into Muggle money. We can talk later, though."

"Right," Rosmerta said, with what Dory thought might just have been a trace of bitterness. "I'll see you tonight, then?"

Dory nodded and raised her hand in a wave good-bye before stalking off towards the fireplace. Keeping her eyes fixed on Rosmerta, she seized the pot of Floo powder and threw the powder into the gate. Bright emerald-green flames rose high, licking her ankles and warming her feet. When she stood in the centre of the fire, she risked another look over her shoulder to see if Rosmerta was far enough away and cried, neither too loudly, nor too softly, "Borgin and Burkes!"

She clenched her eyes shut and tucked her elbows as she whirled around, faster and faster, until she felt herself slowing down. She sank her arms to her sides and slowly refilled her lungs with air. _Finally_, Dory thought, nauseous – a feeling that only worsened when she remembered what happened the last time she had travelled by Floo.

Borgin and Burkes was dead deserted and eerily silent. Dory peered around gingerly; the shop was dark, only illuminated by one single tallow. Its flickering light played dimly over the rows of human skulls, blood-stained creatures and withering body parts; all surfaces greasy, grime in every crack. Shadows danced quixotically over the surrounded objects in the shop, so that those bones and instruments seemed to move along the walls like a march of the dead, all of them clothed in the same ghastly hue.

Dory shuddered – this place was black in its darkest form.

The floor creaked noisily under her feet as she moved forward, disturbing the quiet. Almost instantly, various clicks and rumbles could be heard from the back room. Hurried footsteps tapped against the old wooden floor and several moments later, Mr. Borgin appeared behind the counter.

Dory appraised him with a cold, snobbish look. She was determined not to come across too Muggle-born, knowing what had happened to Hermione when she had greeted him with a very cheery "Hello, horrible morning, isn't it?".

"Can I help you, miss?" Borgin asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"I was wondering…" Dory began as she ambled through the shop, her searching eyes lingering on the wall that was lined with shelves, "do you happen to sell any books?"

Borgin looked dismayed. "Books?" he repeated. "No… miss, I don't – I _do_ have this necklace, rumoured to be worn by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. It would look lovely around your neck, if I may say so. Would you like to try it on?"

"I clearly said _books_, didn't I?"

"Yes, miss," Borgin said hurriedly. "No offense intended, of course. Just a suggestion, just a suggestion… If I may be so bold to ask, could you tell me your surname?"

Dory had been expecting the question. "Black," she replied without hesitation, barely sparing him a glance.

"Dear me! Miss Black, what an honour to have you in my shop… such an honour… it's been not more than a week I since Miss Bellatrix has visited – a cousin, isn't she?"

"Bella," started Dory, turning her head so Borgin wouldn't see her grimace, "is my cousin, yes, who has graciously welcomed me back from France. She told me perhaps Mr. Borgin would be able to help me, but it appears she was mistaken."

Borgin's greasy smile weakened. "Ah… I regret to inform you she was indeed mistaken. We only sell magical artefacts, I'm afraid – are you absolutely sure I can't persuade you to purchase this beautiful ring? Here, look at it; Goblin-made, fashioned from the purest gold, and, above all, very reasonably priced, if I do say so myself. Just because it seems that this ring was made for your fingers."

Dory crossed the shop, closely examining the ostentatious ring resting in the palm of his hand, and said, "From what I understand, Bella is a frequent visitor to your shop, Mr. Borgin. Are you quite sure you can't help me? I might consider buying this – lovely ring…"

"Now you mention it, I suppose I do have I small collection of books in the back room. It depends, of course, what you're searching for, Miss Black."

_That's what I thought_. "Bring me those books, will you? We shall see if you have something worth using."

"Of course, miss. Take a look around while you wait," Borgin said as he put the ring back in its glass case. He rubbed his hands together and eyed the bag of money in her hands, which, seemingly, appeared to be more impressive than it truly was. "I'll be back shortly."

He scurried into the back room. Dory waited, fiercely hoping Borgin had the book she was looking for. She _needed _this – she had no idea what else to do…

When Borgin reappeared, he was hidden behind a pile of thick books. He slammed them down on the table and fixed a pince-nez to his nose. Dory had to withhold a grin as she watched his nervous fidgeting; _it seems that the tables have__ turned, Mr. Borgin_.

"_Arcana Maleficarum_?" murmured Dory, her finger gliding over the elongated letters.

"Secrets of Witchcraft, Miss Black… Very dark magic, very dark." Borgin was smiling as he told her this. "A manual for wizard and witches to torture Muggles and Muggle-borns; for those who believe the Killing Curse is too kind. Doesn't your family already own a copy, Miss Black?"

"Yes, we do," bluffed Dory. "It's not what I'm looking for, either. Do any of these books give explicit instructions on how to cast the Fiendfyre curse?"

Borgin halted his movements, his smile morphing into something more cruel. "Oh, yes, yes… Fiendfyre. I shouldn't be surprised… I know exactly what you're looking for, miss." He rummaged through the books for a moment and then emitted a soft "A-ha!" when he found what he had been searching for. He extracted a large book, bound in dark brown leather. "Here it is, _Magick Moste Evile_, Godelot's finest book; covers everything you need to know."

"I'm vaguely familiar with the book," said Dory as she took the book and leafed through the pages. "What will it cost me?"

"Normally it costs eighty Galleons, but for you, Miss Black, I'll make it seventy-five."

"That's most considerate of you, Mr. Borgin."

Swiftly, she drew out her wand and before Borgin could register what was happening, pointed it at his forehead, murmuring, "_Obliviate_." His eyes glazed over, becoming unfocused and moony.

Dory picked up _Magick Moste Evile_, lips curling upward into a victorious grin. With the book clutched to her chest, she slipped through the door, glancing over her shoulder one more time to see Borgin frozen in his dreamy state. Her smile widened.

* * *

For a long time, Dory wondered aimlessly through a snow-coated Diagon Alley – past the sombre Ministry of Magic-posters, desolated shops dripping with misery, collapsed buildings with mouldered girders poking out of their sides like ribs and ramshackle restaurants whose owners were standing outside, longingly staring at the few passers-by –, until she found herself loitering in front of Gringotts. She gazed up at the bank's snow-white façade, which was looking as majestic and grandiose as ever. The same marble columns, the same gilt-bronze doors; Gringotts was one of the little buildings that had remained unchanged.

_"Gringotts," announced Hagrid as they reached a grand white building that towered over the other shops. Behind the doors, a Goblin, clad in a uniform of scarlet and gold, awaited them. _

Dory ran a troubled hand through her hair, her eyes dropping down to the set of white stairs that would lead her to hundreds of Goblins sitting there. One of them could change her Galleons into pounds. _And then? _she thought. It wouldn't be enough to rent a flat, would it? Maybe she could find a job in the Muggle world… But that meant she would come to a halt – what sort of progress could she make in the Muggle world, after all? She hated being inactive…

"Are yeh lost, little lady?" a rather shabby-looking wizard asked, leering at her. "Shouldn' yeh be at school?"

"No," replied Dory coolly. She tapped her foot impatiently. "Do you mind?"

The wizard shifted aside, allowing her to pass. Dory did so, brushing past him with unnecessary brusqueness, and walked away, frustration marking every step she took. When she had turned up a side-street, she took out her wand and vanished out of sight with a loud _crack_. After a brief moment of compressing darkness, Dory reopened her eyes: she was standing in front of the Three Broomsticks.

The little bell jingling announced her arrival. Rosmerta, who had been wiping glasses, looked up.

"How did it go?" she asked, her own green eyes crinkling as she smiled a welcome. "Can I touch your Muggle money? I've never touched Muggle money before, you know – sure, I've _seen _it, but –"

"I don't have any Muggle money," said Dory, still sounding irritable. She readjusted the book in her hands, making sure Rosmerta couldn't read the title. "I didn't exchange the money."

"Oh –"

"Look, I really need to stow this away, all right? Maybe you can come to my room later? Then we can talk."

Curiously eyeing the book, Rosmerta nodded. Perhaps she sensed Dory didn't want to talk about it, because she grinned, "Shall I take my brush with me?"

"Yeah," said Dory, grateful for Rosmerta's consideration, "that'd be great."

* * *

**A/N: My graduation is tomorrow (YES, I'VE GRADUATED! HIGH SCHOOL IS DOOONE!), and after that, I'll have more time to write (yeaaah!). **

**I wanted to add a little note I forgot last chapter: I know a lot of people see Sirius as a major ladies-man, but somehow, I don't think he was. My opinion of Sirius is that he was much more involved with the Marauders during Hogwarts years. I picture teenage Sirius more as a rebel who messes around with girls when he feels like it, but that is ****_because he can_****, not because it is his main priority. I don't think he had a lot of time for girls, actually… he just hooks up with one when it's convenient for him (at least, in my humble opinion). **

**So, yeah, no player Sirius in my stories. **

**Thank you for the favs/alerts and awesome reviews! **

**Kisses!**


	11. Ravenclaw's Diadem

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. timetravel. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**Ravenclaw's Diadem **

The layer of snow thickened and the temperature dropped as Christmas approached. Dory hardly noticed. She had spent the week locked in her room, only coming down for breakfast and dinner, her nose stuck in _Magick Moste Evile _and solidly reading the same lines over and over again.

_…as earlier stated, Fiendfyre cannot be extinguished by ordinary water or enchanted water, which makes it all the more difficult for the caster to control the bewitched fire. The counter curse will be treated later in this chapter. Firstly, we shall describe the usage of this most powerful curse…_

Dory pushed _Magick Moste Evile _away and pressed her fingers to her tired eyes. _What a horrible book_, she thought, a fresh wave of nausea rolling through her. How could someone speak so highly of such horrible magic? The writer of the book, Godelot, proudly stated things Dory wouldn't even dare to whisper. He showed a deep abhorrence of the Killing Curse, saying that "_its effects are too instantaneous and painless"_, preferring to use the Cruciatus Curse, and greatly admired evil wizards and witches such as Herpo the Foul, Morgan le Fay and Yardley Platt.

She appreciated Hermione's bookish nature a lot more now – not that Dory didn't do that already. Her opinion of Hermione had always been very high, but her friend's reliance on rationality and the logical critiques that came with it often annoyed her. Nevertheless, Hermione had always been the one doing all the research and planning. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly. Dory realized she had always taken Hermione's forethought and resourcefulness for granted – _she _wasn't good at this.

Uncrossing her legs, she closed the book and hid it under her pillow, right next to the Time-Turner. She sat still for a moment, enjoying the feel of the cotton sheets that were pulled taut and creaseless across her bed.

A faint light filtered through the curtains that covered her open window. _I've been up all night_, she realized, and closed her eyes, listening to the large pendulum clock in the hall chime out the hour. She didn't count how many times; she didn't want to know yet.

_But it's time_.

Dory got up out of bed and pulled back the curtains, letting in the pale light of dawn. She felt lost – thinking about Hermione felt like a violent stab of unsupportable loneliness. Standing there, she was overcome by the fiery desire for a true, honest conversation. She missed Hermione, whom she could confide all her worries to; she missed tactless Ron, who could always lighten up the mood, no matter how hopeless their situation was.

But she was on her own now – no Ron and Hermione, no Dumbledore with his irritatingly discreet hints, no Mrs. Weasley to feed her until her stomach ached.

Sighing deeply, she snatched a jumper from the floor and pulled it over her head. Then she crept out of the room, through the corridors and down the stairs. The fireplace was brightly lit, and Dory was pleasantly surprised when the scent of a freshly-cut Christmas tree filled her nostrils. She gazed around, enthralled. The Three Broomsticks looked as though it had undergone a transformation. Swinging sprays of mistletoe, spruce and holly patched the ceiling, handsome Christmas trees decorated with magical snow and tinsel glittered in every corner and enchanted candles flickered festively over the tables. At last, her eyes locked on the clock, which was bedecked with fir-tree branches. It was almost seven o'clock.

_It's time_.

A noise in the kitchen made her jump. She hurried towards the front door, breathing a sigh of relief as the latch yielded under her touch, and yanked it open. The bitter wind felt like knives cutting through her skin after the Three Broomsticks' Christmassy warmth and for a moment, Dory could only stand there with her back against the cold oak of the door. She shivered; in all the rush she had forgotten her cloak.

She headed up the street, jaw clenched and head bowed against the wind. The walk seemed endless, even though her destination wasn't all that far from the Three Broomsticks. Perhaps it was the anticipation to start again, to _do _something again. Ever since the war had ended, she had been plagued by a alien restlessness. Everyone seemed to move on – and there she was, trapped in slow-motion, dreaming about Voldemort, Cedric, Sirius, the Deathly Hallows…

Dory had been bored, she had realized. Bored with life.

She missed the changes, the variety, the _adventure _of life. Hermione had decided to return to Hogwarts for her seventh year and was planning to start a career at the Ministry and Ron had already started his training as an Auror, which made them a perfectly _normal _wizarding couple – life for them had become a humdrum routine. But most of all, they seemed to be fine with living like that. That was what worried her. How could they not miss the excitement that Dory so desperately craved for?

At first, she had welcomed the peace with open arms, glad to have some rest after everything they had been going through – the near-death experiences, the violence, the deaths… Dory almost felt guilty for the longing, the yearning for the impossible. Her refusal to participate in this new way of living had come as a shock even to herself. Wasn't this what she had fought for? Peace, steadiness, some normality?

_Apparently not_, Dory thought as she stopped walking and raised her gaze to watch Mrs. Flume clearing the snow from the pavement. The door was open. She just had to be fast…

Keeping her eyes fixed on Mrs. Flume's broad back, she scurried across the street. This was her only chance to play it out – she couldn't afford to be caught; not now. Worriedly, she glanced at the path of footprints she had left behind her. She had no time to erase them. Would Mrs. Flume notice? However, Dory had no time to contemplate this, for Mrs. Flume let out a satisfied sigh and turned around –

Dory dashed through the door. To her immense relief, Honeydukes was empty. She moved forward, rushed behind the counter and slipped down the cellar steps. Panic seized her as she heard somebody open the door and heavy footsteps winded down stairs. Heart hammering in her chest and nerves raging through her body, she crouched down and pulled the trapdoor open. The steps were getting louder…

Quickly, she lowered herself into the darkness beneath her and replaced the trapdoor. Above her, she heard a voice say, "Seems like we're having a rat problem again, dear."

Languor filled her as she walked down the stone stairs. _Finally_, she thought as she reached the last step. She paused to wipe the sweat from her forehead and pulled out her wand, muttering "Lumos!". Stumbling and wobbling, she made her way through the narrow passage. And at long last, the floor curved upward.

Her side was stinging painfully by the time she reached the stone slide. Panting, she started to climb, feeling tired, excited, nervous…

_Home_. The word was like a friendly hand on her shoulder. Dory touched the inside of One-Eyed Witch's hump, rooted on the floor. She was really going to do this – she was at Hogwarts. There was no turning back now.

She tapped the hump with her lightened wand and stuck her head out of the opening that had appeared. Silence glimmered in the empty corridor. Taking a deep breath, Dory dodged out from behind the statue and started to run. Her footsteps echoed loudly down the cavernous corridors, so loud Dory was scared someone might hear her, and she quickened her sprint, the fear of being caught fortifying. Her legs were screaming in protest, but she balled her fists determinedly and climbed up the stairs, higher and higher, to the seventh floor.

And then, sweaty and out of breath, she halted beside the enormous tapestry of dancing trolls and closed her eyes.

_I need the place where everything is hidden_, she beseeched in her head, pacing up and down. _I need the place where everything is hidden_…

On her third walk past, the familiar door of the Room of Requirement appeared in the wall. Dory wrenched it open and crossed the threshold, breathing a sigh of relief as the door fell shut behind her.

Ignoring the kick of adrenaline the sight of the room produced, she leaned against the doorway.

_I'm really here_, she thought, looking around the cathedral-sized room, _it's real_.

She sped off into the labyrinth of hidden treasures, her heart beating so hard it hurt. A shaky laugh escaped her lips when she saw the Vanishing Cabinet. She was so close. Only one turn left and –

There it was: a wooden crate with several items perched on it. The head of an ugly warlock, a dusty old wig and a tarnished diadem that couldn't have been more inconspicuous amid all the clutter.

Dory picked it up, amazed by how _easily _this had proceeded. She had been planning the whole week; first, she would need to collect the Horcruxes. Yes, that would be the smartest thing to do, especially when she would be using a curse as ferocious as Fiendfyre. Then, in possession of all five Horcruxes, she would destroy them – all at once.

She turned around and walked back through the gigantic piles of junk. The room filled her with an odd mixture of melancholic sorrow and giddy thrill-happiness. Oh, the things that had happened in here…

_"Dobby knows the perfect place!" the house-elf squeaked, clapping his tiny hands together. "Dobby heard tell of it from the other house-elves when he came to Hogwarts, miss. It is known by us as the Come and Go Room, miss, or else as the Room of Requirement!"_

When she had turned right past an extremely large stuffed troll, the door came in sight. She hastened towards it, opening it slightly to make sure the corridor was deserted.

Her stomach squirmed, and Dory took a step back, stunned; a few dozen chattering students were crowded in the hallway. She immediately slammed the door shut. The noise died. Biting back a curse, she ran a troubled hand through her hair – if only she had her Invisibility Cloak right now…

She let herself slide onto the floor and waited, staring dazedly into space. She had been so absorbed in finding the diadem that she had lost track of time. Merlin, classes had already started. She hadn't been expecting this, she hadn't _planned _this.

After seemingly endless hours of waiting, Dory got to her feet and pushed the door open cautiously. When she was absolutely certain nobody was there, she moved forward and closed the door behind her. The moment it clicked shut, the entrance melt back into stone. Dory ran; ran as fast as she could. She started down the stairs, her feet skirting the steps as though she was flying. Her heart pounded furiously in her throat as she raced along the corridors – faster and faster…

"Ouch!"

Dory had collided, hard, with an unseen person striding equally fast through the corridor. There was a hiss, one echoed by herself as her head throbbed and pain prickled over her scalp.

"_Dory_?"

The voice jolted her out of her trance. "James?" she gasped, pushing her body back up into standing position. She quickly shoved the diadem into the pocket of her jumper. "What are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't it be me asking you that?" James said. He was looking rather dishevelled, with his glasses askew and his hair untidier than Dory had ever seen it. After several moments of stunned silence, he continued, "So… what _are _you doing here?"

Dory stared at him, panic-stricken, and cleared her throat. "I…" she started, at a loss for words.

"You…?"

"I… was visiting Professor Dumbledore," she said, striving to keep her face natural, "bringing him our… finest oak-matured mead."

"Oh," said James, frowning. "But Sirius told be you were fired."

"I am," Dory told him, "but I'm still staying at the Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta didn't have any time to visit, so I offered to do it. I've always wanted to see what Hogwarts looks like and I reckoned this was my chance."

"Good thinking," said James, the crease between his brows melting away. "Where is it?"

"What?"

"The mead," he clarified.

"It's gone. I've already visited him," said Dory, casting him a sidelong glance. "He's a rather… odd man, isn't he? He kept offering me sweets."

"Odd, but a genius," grinned James. "What're doing up here, anyway? The entrance to the headmaster's office is on the second floor."

Nodding, Dory replied, "I know, but… I got lost."

James's face dissolved into laughter. "You look very lost. It doesn't surprise me you've forgotten the way back. Everything does seem to move around a lot." He poked himself in the chest with his thumb and then stretched dramatically. "You're lucky I've come to the rescue. C'mon, follow me, I'll show you the way back to the entrance hall."

"That'd be great," mumbled Dory untruthfully as they began walking along the corridors. "You haven't answered my question yet; what are _you _doing here? Shouldn't you be in class right now?"

"Nah," said James. "I've got a free period now, and being the obedient Head Boy I am, I've got to patrol the corridors – you know, make sure there aren't any ickle firsties skipping class."

"Obedient, indeed," Dory said wryly.

"So, have you found a place yet?"

"No," she replied gloomily, "and I can't afford to stay at the Three Broomsticks much longer – four days, at most."

"Not to be a spoilsport, but if you don't have enough money to pay your stay _there_, how are you going to afford a place to live?"

"I've saved some money. It isn't a lot, but…" Dory's voice trailed off. Then she added, "Maybe I can get a job somewhere else in Hogsmeade."

_That's a pretty good idea, actually_, she thought pensively. What had made her think she was limited to the Three Broomsticks? Just because she couldn't work at the inn anymore, didn't mean she was forced to start some place else. Hogsmeade was crammed with shops and pubs! And if she found another source of money, she could keep her room in the Three Broomsticks as well...

She exhaled, her heart growing lighter.

Lost in thought, it took her several moments to realize that James had been talking to her. When she blinked at him, she saw a broad spread across his face. "Sorry, could you say that again?"

"I _said_," he said, emphasizing the word, "where would you like to work?"

"That doesn't matter now, does it? A job's a job, that's all that matters."

"It doesn't hurt to have a preference, y'know," James smiled. "I reckon you wouldn't want to work at Madam Puddifoot's, though."

Dory sighed. "Did Sirius tell you everything?"

"Sirius always tells me everything," James said, a trifle smugly.

"It seems," said Dory slowly. "Or did he skip the part where I told him he was prettier than me?"

James roared with laughter. "No, he forgot to mention that – wait, you seriously think that he's prettier than you?"

She hummed. "Of course, don't you?"

James tapped one finger against his chin. "It's a tie, I think," he said finally, sounding very serious.

"Why, thank you," Dory grinned as their steps halted at the top of the last staircase. "Thank you for showing me the way, James. Are you and your friends coming to Hogsmeade one more time before the holidays start?"

"Absolutely," said James. He surveyed her closely through his black-framed glasses. "Merlin, you really do look a lot like my mother. It's almost scary talking to you, to be honest."

"Her name is Dorea, too, right?"

"Was," he corrected, running a hand through his hair. "She passed away this past winter, though it still feels like yesterday."

Dory unconsciously mimicked his movement. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too," James agreed with a sad smile. Seemingly forgotten he had a listener, he continued, "At first, I couldn't believe it. It was so final. I couldn't imagine how life was going to be without Mum. But I did learn from it – I've accepted it. My dad's getting better, too…" His lips turned upward. "I'm really looking forward to spend the holiday with Lily and him."

Daunted by the sadness in his voice, Dory remained silent.

"She was the perfect Black, you know, my mum. When Sirius moved in with us, she was terrified someone would find out, even though she loved him like a son."

"Your mother was related to Sirius?"

James shrugged. "Yeah – Sirius is something like my first cousin once removed."

"Sirius told me his family's obsessed with blood purity," Dory said, watching him closely. She left the unspoken question hanging in the air. _Was your mother like that, too? _It created some sort of tension, and James's expression visibly tightened.

"He's right about that," he said. He spoke in a carefully light voice that told Dory quite plainly he was not about to elaborate. However, he looked away, satisfying her query – Dorea Potter née Black _had _been like that.

"And Lily – she's the girl you fancy, isn't she?"

"Yeah," James replied, looking relieved at the drastic change of subject. "We started dating a few weeks ago – on the first of December," he added, as though that was a very relevant piece of information. "And we decided to spend the holidays together. One week at my house, the other at hers."

"That sounds really nice," Dory said sincerely.

"I hope her parents like me, though," he confided, scratching his chin. "Her sister's getting married and Lily invited me as her date. As if meeting her parents isn't bad enough already. Now I'm going to meet her whole family! – her _Muggle_ family," he said as an afterthought. "I don't know a thing about Muggles, to be honest."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine. Lily will be there with you, won't she?"

"Yeah, you're right, I suppose," said James, nodding. "What're _you_ going to do with Christmas, by the way? Back to France?"

"Why would I – ooh, I… no, I'm spending Christmas at the Three Broomsticks, I reckon," replied Dory quickly. "How many days do you have left until the holidays start? Wait, forget that – what date is it today?"

"The twenty-first," said James. "Two days left until the holidays."

"The twenty-first…" Dory murmured slowly. She gasped, her eyes widening. "But that means it's already Wednesday!"

"Yeah…?"

Panic fluttered in her stomach – _Dear Merlin! _She had been hiding herself in her room for eight days – no wonder Rosmerta had been throwing her worried glances all week. It also meant she had missed her weekly appointment with Regulus, Dory realized. She pictured him sitting at their usual table in the Hog's Head, scowling and sneering as he waited for someone who would never come. The image in her mind so vivid she almost felt… guilty?

"All right there, Dory?" James asked.

"Yeah, sure." She rubbed her cheeks, trying to still her laboured breath. "Just… time's been moving so fast. I've been here – in Hogsmeade, I mean – for a month. It feels so much shorter. Sorry, I'm just overreacting."

"D'you miss France?"

"Yeah," murmured Dory. "Yeah, a lot."

The bell rang to signal five minutes before class started. Dory jumped, cursing that _horrible _bell for putting such an abrupt end to the conversation. She wanted to spend more time with her father; she wanted to know more about him.

James smiled and pushed himself off the balustrade he had been leaning on. "Well, I'd better get going. We'll drop by tomorrow, if you'd like us to."

"I'd love that," Dory grinned. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, 'til tomorrow, Dory!"

And with that, James started up the stairs. Dory watched him leave, she watched him climb higher and higher, she watched him until he was nothing more than a teeny-tiny dot among the hundreds of students. And, eventually, she watched him disappear, a powerful ache throbbing inside her body. _Don't go. _

She gazed around; students were walking up and down the long flights of stairs everywhere she looked. She blew out a loud, frustrated sigh and cast one last look at the winding staircase before starting up, ignoring the many students ogling her; Dory was wearing Muggle clothes, which were embarrassingly noticeable compared to their black Hogwarts uniforms.

Squeezing her way through the torrent of people, she headed for the seventh floor.

_Here we go again._

_"DORY!"_

_A roaring, billowing noise behind her gave her a moment's warning. Gasping, she turned and saw both Ron and Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle toward them. _

_"Like it hot, scum?" hollered Crabbe._

_But he seemed to have no control over what he had done. Flames of abnormal size were pursuing them, licking up the sides of the junk bulwarks, which were crumbling to soot at their touch. It consumed all pride and courage, replacing it with panic – the fire was coming close, so terrifyingly close… _

Until a month ago, Dorea Potter preferred staying awake to sleeping. She used to drag herself out of nightmares tinged with death and sorrow every morning, relieved a new day had begun. And then, in the evening, Andromeda would speak those dreaded words again – "It's late, we should go to bed" and the fear would creep in, fear of the night; the darkness that told her to sleep, to relive those nightmares over and over again.

But things had changed. Dory didn't like staying awake as much as she used to. The nightmares, the ones that used to plague her _at night_, had stalked their way into her daily life.

She had created another person the moment she had been transported to 1977. There was this intense thirst for familiarity and the odd feel of nothingness that came with it. But Dory couldn't find the familiarity – and she craved it oh-so desperately.

Dory pulled out the diadem from her pocket and idly rested a finger on the oval-shaped sapphire that decorated it. _I did it_, she thought, astonished at how easy her excursion had gone. _I've got the diadem_.

But where to hide it? She couldn't just put in under her pillow, like the Time-Turner, which could be mistaken for an unremarkable necklace at first glance. No, this was Ravenclaw's diadem, an age-old relic of inestimable value – hiding it under a pillow would have been too careless. And while the diadem did resemble a tarnished tiara, being in possession of a diadem would raise too suspicion. Why would she, a 'Muggle-born' witch, own a magical diadem?

Thus, for the time being, she would have to carry it with her.

A knock on the door interrupted her musings. Dory jumped to her feet and hurriedly stuffed the diadem back into her pocket before clearing her throat, "Come in!"

"Glad to see you're still alive," a voice said from the doorway. Rosmerta slouched into the room, smiling brightly. "Circe, are you ever coming out of here, Dory? You've been in here for days, I swear. I've missed you!"

"Sorry, I found a very good book, I just couldn't put it down," said Dory. At Rosmerta's questioning look, she added, "I went to Flourish and Blotts while I was at Diagon Alley."

"You didn't strike me as the bookish type," said Rosmerta as she perched herself on the edge of the bed.

"It's a Quidditch book."

Rosmerta grinned. "You didn't strike me as someone who loves Quidditch, either. Don't tell me you're one of those Quidditch maniacs."

"I _love _Quidditch, it's the best sport in the world! I played it a lot during my time at H – Beauxbatons. I was a Seeker," Dory said, brightening at the thought of her favourite sport.

"Beauxbatons has a House system, like Hogwarts, then?" Rosmerta asked curiously.

Dory avoided eye-contact and picked up her wand. Twirling it between her fingers, she replied, "Eh… no, we just liked playing Quidditch in our free time."

Rosmerta shook her head in amazement. "How odd! I can't imagine school without the Quidditch Cup. It's a real big deal at Hogwarts – c'mon, I've brought my brush with me. Sit down. Honestly, you're hair looks like a rat's nest, scruffy. Now, where was I? Oh, right, Quidditch! Well, there are four teams, each represented by…"

Wincing as Rosmerta tugged on her hair, Dory listened. It didn't matter she already knew everything the older girl was telling her, it didn't matter she was listening to someone who knew less about Quidditch than she did.

It was familiarity.

_Dory ignored Hermione. Blood was pounding furiously in her ears. She mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground. Up, up, she soared; air rushed through her hair, and her robes whipped behind her – and in a rush of fierce joy she realized she had found something she could do without being taught – this was easy, this was wonderful…_

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone :(. But it's longer than usual! I just had a really hard time writing this… BUUUUT, thank you for all those sweet reviews/favs/alerts! I squeal when I read those reviews. Seriously. THANK YOU! **

**Kisses! **


	12. A Second Chance

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. timetravel. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**A Second Chance**

"And then?"

"His beard disappeared!" James said, earning another round of laughter. "No, no, wait, it's not over yet. Then he rubbed his chin and said, 'I rather like it, actually, perhaps I shall keep it'. And then said, 'Although it adds quite a few years, don't you think?'. Unfortunately, his entire beard had grown back the next day. It's a slight understatement to say we were disappointed."

Rosmerta chortled loudly. "Circe! Albus Dumbledore without his beard, unimaginable! I wish I'd been there to see it!"

"Yeah," Sirius said, smiling complacently. "It was quite a wicked prank, if I do say so myself."

"And you did this when you were _fourteen_? I admire your courage – or should I say audacity?"

James took another gulp of Butterbeer before replying, "Nah, Dumbledore knows how to take a joke. That's what makes him so brilliant."

"You forgot to tell them what Dumbledore told us the next morning," Wormtail piped up, looking at his two friends with great adoration. "He said that in all his time at Hogwarts he'd never seen a group of troublemakers quite like us, didn't he say that, Prongs, Padfoot?"

"He's told us that a thousand times, Wormtail," said James, irritated.

Dory watched, fascinated, as Wormtail reddened and hid himself behind his tankard.

Sirius, however, grinned. "He's right, though, Prongs. We certainly left our, eh, footprints on Hogwarts." The four friends chuckled, sharing a mysterious look. "I doubt they'll ever forget us."

"How time flies," sighed Rosmerta, who was polishing glasses. "Remember the first time you four came in here? You were this small, I swear – and look at you lot now!"

"Yep, a Head Boy and a prefect, we're so proud."

Dory's fingers tightened around _Magick Moste Evile_, which she had been reading before James and his three friends had arrived. As she didn't dare to leave it in her room, she had made it a habit to carry it around with her, together with the Ravenclaw's diadem. She had performed a tricky charm so that the cover, instead of being emblazoned with its original title, now was completely blank. An unintended side effect was that it had turned purple as well. Hermione would have done it a lot better, Dory knew, but she simply wasn't as exceptionally skilled as her friend was.

_"Oho! 'One of my best friends is a Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year'. I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Dorea?" said Slughorn._

_"Yes, sir."_

_"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he said genially._

_Hermione turned to Dory with a radiant expression on her face, whispering, "Did you really tell him that I'm the best in the year? Oh, Dory!"_

Dory's lips curled upward at the memory.

"What are you smiling at?" asked Remus' voice, not unkindly.

Looking up, she saw him watching her. She studied his face for a moment, unable to suppress her amazement. She had seen him in the Snape's memory in her fifth year and as a spirit in the Forbidden Forest, but now… solid and _real_, the sight of Remus Lupin filled her with a queasy melange of nostalgia and disbelieve.

His face was void of premature lines, his hair wasn't grey-flecked as she remembered it to be, but thick and a healthy light-brown. Dory also couldn't help but notice how happy and youthful he looked. The contrast with his senior self was wondrous.

"Well?" Remus pressed, his forehead creasing into a curious frown.

Dory blinked several times and then admitted, "Myself."

Grinning good-naturedly, he said, "You're that funny?"

"I'm hilarious."

His chuckle morphed into a hearty laugh. "I'll remember that for the next time I'm feeling down."

At that, Dory made an airy gesture with her hand. "You don't need me. Your friends seem to do a pretty good job at cheering you up." And added, "Besides, I can't compete with someone who manages to make Albus Dumbledore beardless – that's way out of my league."

"It's never boring with them around, that's very true," agreed Remus, sending his three friends an affectionate look over the rim of his tankard. His eyes were dancing with laughter as he continued, "Hilarious, even."

Dory laughed. "It must be nice to have such great friends."

"It is," said Remus. "If they hadn't been there…"

Dory remained quiet, for she knew what he was thinking – _"But apart from my transformations, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had friends, three great friends. Sirius Black… Peter Pettigrew… and, of course, your father, Dory – James Potter," said Professor Lupin._

But Professor Lupin is dead, a nasty voice whispered in her ear, this is Remus, not Professor Lupin.

"You seem to get lost in thought a lot," remarked Remus. "What's bothering you?"

Running a hand through her hair, Dory said, "I'm a bit stressed out about what's going to happen after tomorrow." That was a lie. For some unknown reason, she had been rather careless about finding another place to stay, irresponsibly so. "I've got only one day left to find another job. Sure, I've got enough money to stay another week, but then I won't have anything anymore, and, well – I've still got to buy Christmas presents."

"Or you could just apologise to Herm," interjected Rosmerta. "It isn't that hard; just go upstairs, say sorry and I'm sure he'll let you work here again. You've been disregarding my warnings long enough, Dory. Honestly, do you have any other plan?"

"Actually, I'm thinking about finding another job somewhere else in Hogsmeade," Dory said. "Maybe Honeydukes. I like the idea of having unlimited access to chocolate."

"You're going to find another job before tomorrow?" asked Rosmerta, raising her eyebrows. "Mr. and Mrs. Flume aren't looking for employees at the moment. _We_, on the other hand,are – another reason for Herm to rehire you."

"But –"

"My goodness, Dory, stop being so stubborn! What did Herm say to make you this upset?"

"That doesn't matter," said Dory hotly. "I can't work with Herm as my boss, the whole fight aside."

"You could at least give it a try," James cut in. His brows furrowed slightly as his eyes snapped to hers. The puzzlement of his look made her feel thoroughly unnerved. "It won't hurt, will it? Frankly, I'd rather visit you here than at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop or something like that."

She took a tentative sip of her Butterbeer and muttered "Right." She felt her persistence shrivel under her father's gaze. _Why is he looking at me like that? _"We'll see, all right?"

"Plus, Herm's in his office all the time anyway," said Rosmerta.

"Which is a good thing for us," Sirius grinned. "Just imagine if he saw us sitting here… We're lucky you're not a tattletale, Rosmerta."

"Very lucky," she agreed as she put away the last glass. She cast him a stern look. "But mind you, I'm only allowing this because it's your last year."

"And you really, really like us."

"Your words, Black," laughed Rosmerta, pointing a finger at him. "Now, I've got to go back to work – and you four, Herm usually comes downstairs around this hour, so please bear that in mind. I wouldn't want you to get caught. Have a merry Christmas!"

There was an uneven chorus of "Merry Christmas, Rosmerta!". She grabbed her tray and scurried off to serve a couple of hags sitting in the far corner of the room. The moment she had left, James turned to Dory.

"She's right, you know," he said, and Dory was surprised to see a troubled expression on his face – was he_ worried_? "You really should talk to Herm – Merlin, I don't like the bloke either, but your chances of getting a job before tomorrow are, well… non-existent."

"He called me a lazy loafer!" protested Dory, only realizing how childishly petulant her words sounded the moment she had spoken them aloud. Nevertheless, she continued, "And he also said I'm a liar – and he called me useless."

"Herm oughtn't have said that, no, especially not since he was your boss," said Remus placatingly, "but James has a point, it's very unlikely you'll find a job before tomorrow – is one fight truly worth the risk of becoming homeless?"

"It's not," admitted Dory. "But I don't want him to win this – whatever this is. It's rather difficult to explain. Herm and I don't see eye to eye. He's been nothing but awful since I've arrived here and I've got the feeling that if I say sorry, I'm agreeing with him that I'm the whole problem. And I'm not."

"You're over-analyzing this too much," said Sirius lazily.

Remus looked sideways at his friend, then said, "Look, Dory, why not show him you're _not _lazy? Prove him wrong. Don't you think that would be much more satisfying than standing your ground and doing nothing?"

_He has a point_, Hermione's voice told her silently. _Listen to him, Dory_.

"I reckon Herm will be pretty smug when he hears you've become not only unemployed, but homeless as well," said Sirius, leaning back in his chair and tilting it back on two legs.

"I'm not homeless yet," said Dory in defence. "I've still got one day left. And if I find another job in Hogsmeade, I can still stay at the Three Broomsticks, can't I?"

Sirius shot her a significant look. "I shall swallow my pride and _apologise_," he grinned, and clasped his hands over the back of his neck. "You should try it."

Pondering their words, Dory put her hand on top of _Magick Moste Evile _and passed it lightly across the cover. Their idea did make sense, she thought, picturing Herm with a smug I-told-you-so look, telling her he had been right all along – she was a good-for-nothing loafer, jobless _and _homeless. Her hands knotted into fists at the thought.

"I'll give it a try, all right?" she said. "But one condescending remark about how awfully useless I am and I _will _leave." She looked at the ceiling for inspiration, adding, "Or hex him so badly he won't be able to use his –"

"You'd better go now," interrupted James, the corner of his lips tilting upward in amusement. "I want to know where to send my Christmas present for you."

Casting him a cautious eye, Dory nodded and got to her feet. James had absolutely no idea how relevant his opinion was to her, and, although he mightn't be aware of it, every word he spoke was put in careful consideration. She had never had a parental figure to listen to, and she felt obliged to take heed of his advice.

"You'll stay here?"

"Naturally," smiled Remus.

Her green eyes met his amber ones "Thank you," she said gently. Then she looked at the other three, her gaze losing all its warmth as it rested upon the boy seated at the end of the table – Wormtail. She swallowed hard but hid it well. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Just make sure you're still alive when you come back!" Sirius yelled after her.

"I wouldn't count on it!" she shouted back, sweeping towards the stairs.

* * *

Dory paused outside the door of Herm's office, listening to the muffled sound of Herm's incoherent rambling on the other side of it. She looked at the thick, purple book in her hands. _He will notice, _she thought, frowning. _Think, think… what would Hermione do? _

Drawing out her wand, she pointed at _Magick Moste Evile _and muttered, "_Diminuendo_." The book shrank to the size of her thumb. Feeling fairly pleased with herself, she slid it into her pocket and turned to the door.

Breathing in deeply, she raised her hand to knock, then hesitated, and dropped it back to her side.

"Get a grip," she told herself sternly. "It's just an apology."

Swallowing back the nerves that threatened, Dory tilted her head. She tapped lightly on the door before pushing it open to see Herm sitting erectly in his chair, quill clenched between his fingers and eyes wide with scepticism.

"What?" he growled, sounding a tad aggravated.

Dory bit her tongue and exhaled hard down her nose, feeling her temper starting to bubble under her skin. _Count to ten, count to ten_. "I'd like to talk to you."

"Is that so?" Herm snorted in derision.

"Yes, it is," she replied sharply, wondering fleetingly if she would come to regret her actions later on. Her knuckles were already white with restrained anger. How was she going to hold a civil conversation with, let alone offer a 'sincere' apology to, the man who had been nothing but rude and aggressive towards her? "I wanted to…"

She took a huge breath – why was this so hard?

"Yes?"

His hostile tone wasn't helping.

"I want to apologise," she prompted. "I don't know what came over me when I walked off like that. It was completely out of line."

Herm laughed – he actually _laughed_. Dory felt her patience snap as incredulity and ire peaked. His sardonic laugh whisked past her ears; her stomach twisted and her cheeks burned with annoyance.

She held perfectly still for a moment, then narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her. "What?" she shot back, her voice coated with acid.

His cackle quietened down as quickly as it had surfaced, though he was still smiling. It wasn't a nice smile; it was cold and dangerous and it infuriated her to no end.

"You want to apologise?" he mimed. "You didn't find another alternative, so you had no choice but to apologise! I've already told you, girl, I'm not stupid. You just want your job back."

Oh, yes, she was regretting her actions. "I _said_, I was wrong when I walked off like that," said Dory through clenched teeth. "I don't care if you won't rehire me." The lie slipped easily over her tongue. "It's your choice to make. But I admit I was wrong, all right?"

Herm chuckled darkly. "Still haven't given up that nasty habit of lying, have you?"

_Count to ten, count to ten_. "It's the same fight all over again, Herm. I'm not doing this. We can either have a civil conversation, or I'll leave."

"Leave, then."

For a flickering moment, Dory could only stare, utterly blown away by what he just had said. She had gathered that her meeting with Herm wouldn't proceed all that swimmingly, but she hadn't expected to be dismissed so abruptly.

"Can't you at least _try_?" she hissed, hating the way the words stumbled over her tongue. "Wait, don't answer that. Of course you can't. You're just a –" _stupid, senile, insane, grumpy old git_.

"A what?" Herm said. His expression was locked somewhere between contempt and amusement. "Finish that sentence."

Dory raised her eyes to the heavens, biting her lip in frustration. "Look, I apologised, okay? I'm not expecting you to employ me again, I'm not expecting some hollow apology in return, I just want you to listen, but God, even that seems to be too much to ask."

A look of thunder passed over Herm's face.

"Watch your tone, stupid girl," he snapped. "Don't forget whom you're speaking to."

"Sorry," muttered Dory, who was ready to tear her hair out. _Count to ten. Count to ten_. Her teeth were clenched together so tight they could have shattered glass. _Count to ten_. "I…"

A sudden idea struck her. She placed her sweaty hands on her hips and lifted her eyes slowly, hoping beyond hope he couldn't see the emotions she was suppressing.

"You're partly right. I'm not doing this for you, " she said. Her voice still had an irritated edge to it. "I'm doing this for Rosmerta, too. She was absolutely devastated when I told her I wouldn't be working with her anymore and she's been nagging me to apologise ever since. I reckoned it might be worth a shot."

Herm's green-grey eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he didn't speak, allowing an unnatural silence to settle upon them. Dory tilted her head, relishing the moment of peace, and waited for him to speak. However, Herm only observed her, his malevolent expression never wavering as he mulled over her words.

After this long moment of quiet stillness, Herm muttered something into his fist.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that?"

"Sit," said Herm succinctly. "And don't give me cheek, girl, you're already on thin ice."

Dory ignored his curt tone and took the seat opposite him across the desk. _Don't tell me what to do._

"You can stop scowling at me for a start," he said in a gruff manner. "Now, I understand Rosmerta feels some…" His long bushy brows drew low over his eyes, "…care for you. Something quite inexplicable, if you ask me," he muttered under his breath. "But you need to be reminded that this is an inn, a place where needs to be worked, and _that _issomething you appear to be incapable of. Also, whatever you may think, I… Rosmerta…"

Herm visibly bristled, then dipped his chin.

"I'm a landlord," he concluded. "In the limited time you worked here, I questioned that title. I'm not a babysitter, girl, and when you're around, I do feel like one. You throw tantrums, you're too bloody obstinate for your own good and I don't think I've ever heard an honest word come out of your mouth. This…" His lips lifted into a savage snarl, "apology is just another lie, like everything you say."

Dory bit her tongue so hard she could taste blood. Herm was goading her, she was sure of it. He was waiting for the inevitable explosion, taunting, expecting her to lash out.

_Count to ten. Count to ten._

Mustering up the remnants of her pride, she said, her tone accusatory, "You're provoking me."

Herm snorted. "Making false accusations now, too?"

"Why are you doing this?" asked Dory with a weary sigh. She slouched back into her seat and rubbed her temples. "I've already told you, and I'm being completely honest here, I'm not doing this for you – Merlin, I'm not even doing this for myself. I'm doing this because Rosmerta asked me to do so."

Dislike was etched in every line of Herm's old face. He picked up his quill from the desk and played with it between his index fingers, his fierce gaze never leaving hers.

"But this is not just about the fight, is it?" she continued. "I get that you don't like me, though I have no idea why." She threw him a nasty look. "I apologise if I made you feel like a babysitter. Can't you just accept my apology? I see no reason to sit here and be insulted."

"So, if I understand correctly, you're not expecting to benefit from this… apology?" Herm said, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening into a disbelieving scowl. After a moment of tense silence he went on, "Tell me, girl, what are you planning to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"As you're aware, tomorrow is your last day. What are you going to do after your leave?" said Herm. He paused for a second, savouring the look of utter irritation on Dory's face. "Tell me, I'm rather curious."

"The Three Broomsticks isn't the only place in Hogsmeade where I can get a job, is it?" Dory replied. "I heard Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop's hiring at the moment."

"Scrivenshaft's," he grumbled jeeringly.

"_Besides_," Dory continued, "just because I'm not working here anymore doesn't mean I can't stay, am I right? As long as I keep paying, the room's still mine."

Herm stopped rolling the quill between his fingers, seemingly very aghast. "Yes, yes, of course," he muttered. "But you're still going to need money, girl. Scrivenshaft expects his employees to be clever and hard-working. As far as I know, you are neither."

Dory jumped to her feet with a surge of disbelieve and white-hot anger, glowering at the man behind the desk. _No, no_, she thought, chest rising and falling with each deep breath she took, _count to ten_. She refused to play right into his hands – she didn't want to snap. And she wouldn't. _One… two… three…_

"You really don't know how to stop, do you?" she said in a low voice, eyes locked on the floor. "You've done nothing but insult and humiliate me, and _still _– Merlin. You're right, I'm done. I'm really not in the mood for one of your judgemental lectures. I'm going."

With great effort, she turned around and headed inexorably towards the door.

"You need my help," Herm said as Dory grasped the doorknob.

"Really?" she said icily. "So far you haven't demonstrated any genuine intent to offer help."

"I got you a job here," he said, his voice equally cold.

Dory reeled. "Yes, you did, because you _had _to. 'I'm understaffed right now, war ruins your business', remember?" Her fingers sketched quotation marks around the words. "Very generous, Herm."

"I thought I told you not to give me cheek?" barked Herm, slamming his quill down on the desk.

"Now you know how it feels when someone refuses to listen to you. Frustrating, isn't it?"

Herm looked appalled, and Dory felt a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing her snipe had struck a nerve.

"Fine," he said after a silent moment. "I accept your apology."

"But you – oh." Dory coughed, dipping her head to hide her red-tinged cheeks. "Oh. Thank you, then."

"What are you waiting for?" Herm asked when Dory didn't move. An almost victorious smile curved his lips. "You got what you wanted, so you can go now, can't you?"

"Yeah…" she replied gradually, rooted to her spot by the door. _That's certainly unexpected._ "I can go now."

Dory felt a painful squeezing in her chest. So this was it. The end. Her heart dropped. Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop didn't sound that bad, she thought gloomily, and just because Rosmerta had said Honeydukes wasn't looking for employees didn't mean she couldn't give it a try… Or perhaps Zonko's…

_What a joke_.

The pain in her chest expanded, and she shifted her weight to cover up her discomfort.

"I'd better go downstairs, then," she said, choosing her words with care. "I'll have to tell Rosmerta that you've made up your mind. I really won't be working with her anymore – Merry Christmas."

Herm leaned back in his seat and stared at her. The mocking arch of his eyebrows had Dory biting the inside of her mouth. "What did you just say?"

"Merry Christmas?"

He didn't even notice his knuckled hand cracked and flexed his fingers impatiently. "Christmas," he repeated crustily. "The Christmas holidays are about to start."

"Yes, they are, those are the busiest days, aren't they? It's a pity Rosmerta's got to do everything on her own –"

"Laying it on a little bit too thick, girl," grunted Herm.

"Right," she replied, turning her in an attempt to hide her grimace.

Herm picked up his quill and tapped it against the desk. "I thought you didn't want your job back? You only came here to 'apologise', if I recall correctly."

_Caught. _"I only said the next two weeks are going to be hard for Rosmerta." She shook her head at her own inadequacy. "That's all. No hidden messages."

She kept her eyes glued on the rosewood floor below their feet and crossed her arms over chest, fighting the urge to scream in frustration – or worse, walk away from the old man seated opposite her. The silence gave her the impression Herm's mind was racing. She had to wait. _Just wait_.

_Thud, thud, thud, thud_, the quill dabbed dully against the desk, _thud, thud_.

Dory inhaled sharply.

Somehow, Herm's voice only severed the silence when he spoke, "Fine. Two weeks – two weeks to prove yourself. We'll see what happens after that, all right? You'd better prove yourself worthy of this job, Dorea." He met Dory's glare with a smug tilt of his eyebrow. "Otherwise you can leave."

She wouldn't have to find another job, she was safe. "Thank you," she said, dropping her hands and sliding them into her pockets. "Really, Herm…"

"Don't give me thank yous," bristled Herm and his frown tightened. "Don't think I'm doing you a favour – I'm only doing this for Rosmerta. Nobody else." When Dory pursed her lips and nodded, he continued, "Two weeks, girl. Now, go grab an apron."

Oh, she would prove herself, she thought resolutely as she wrenched open the door. The hinges squeaked in protest. She took a huge breath and bit her lip to compose herself, closing the door gently behind her. Suddenly very exhausted, she slumped heavily against the wall.

Although she dreaded the idea of having to deal with Herm as a boss again, she couldn't ignore the intense sense of relief that consumed her. She was safe for now. The thought soothed her hammering heart.

_One less thing to worry about_.

* * *

Dory launched herself down the stairs and sprinted towards the table where James and his friends were sitting at. Rosmerta, who had been serving the neighbouring table, looked up and grinned broadly when she noticed the expression on Dory's face, which, undoubtedly, was one of unconcealed relief.

"Oh, Dory!" she said, laughing loudly and throwing her arms Dory's neck. "He said yes, didn't he? I knew it! I told you he's a big softie on the inside. Sit down, I'll get you a Butterbeer."

Smiling at Rosmerta's excitement, Dory did as told and slumped into the seat next to Remus.

"Told you," James told her complacently.

"I can't believe you waited for me, I was in there for ages!" said Dory with a shake of her head.

Wormtail leaned forward. "What did Hermite say?" he asked quickly, seemingly very eager to know this piece of information.

"It's a long story," she said curtly.

He didn't seem to mind her hostility, perhaps mistaking it for residual anger from her meeting with Herm, and nodded knowingly. Dory's fingers twitched on her thigh.

"So you showed him who's the boss, eh?" Sirius flashed her a boyish grin as he moved his legs to rest his feet on the table.

A rather unattractive snort erupted from Dory, earning a few chuckles and raised eyebrows. "Well, he is," she said wryly.

"Hey, hey," chided Rosmerta, placing a huge tankard of hot, foaming Butterbeer in front of Dory before tapping Sirius's booted feet. "I've just cleaned that table, Mister, it doesn't need your dirty feet all over it."

"My feet are _not _dirty!"

Rosmerta ignored his protest and turned to Dory. "Anything else I can get you?"

"D'you still have those Chocoballs I gave you a few weeks ago?" she asked, chancing a sly glance upward. "I'd love some of those."

"You're pushing your luck, Granger," Rosmerta said, pointing a stern finger at her friend. She smiled. "And to answer your question, of course not, they were gone before you could say 'Chocoball'."

"That's fast," Dory said in tones of mock amazement.

Humming in agreement, Rosmerta dropped her mouth to her ear and said, very softly, "You're going to tell me everything after dinner, all right?" Then she straightened and wiped her hands on her apron. "Did Herm tell you when you'd start working again?"

"Tomorrow, I reckon."

"Great, I could you some help around here," said Rosmerta, pleased. "But first things first – drink your Butterbeer. It'll do you good. You look a little bit stressed."

"Oh, Rosmerta," Sirius said, holding up a hand, "get us four Firewhiskey, will you?" He caught Rosmerta's cocked eyebrows and went on, "We're all over seventeen, so don't give me that look. You want one, Dory? It's on me."

Dory held up her tankard and shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."

"You're given the choice between Butterbeer and Firewhiskey and you pick _Butterbeer_?" he said, disbelieve prevalent in his voice. "Odd little girl."

"With heavy emphasis on little," sniggered James.

"No, with emphasis on odd," disagreed Sirius.

"Aren't they missing you at dinner?" Dory asked them with a pursed-lipped smile. "You know, _at school_."

And they talked and talked. Dory forgot time and surroundings as she laughed and chortled like never before – or so it seemed. The liberating feeling of familiarity and contentment was hard to ignore. Uncaring, she lost herself in the sensation completely.

She felt different somehow; looser, more relaxed and less tense than she had in weeks.

She tried to divert the conversation mainly to them, her own stories twisted and torn when she did talk about herself, but listened raptly to their anecdotes and (admittedly, sometimes stupid) jokes. Dory asked about their hobbies and habits – learning that her father dressed like an "unmade bed" most of the time, Wormtail enjoyed Pepper Imps more than anything, Sirius had a great fondness for the Muggle band the Rolling Stones and Remus had_ never _lost a game of Exploding Snap – and eventually did let herself indulge in a few glasses of Firewhiskey.

They ducked under the table and stifled their chuckles when Herm came downstairs to do his usual stroll around the pub and nearly choked on their laughter when he demanded where Dory had gone to.

Hours later, when the moon hung suspended in the darkened sky and stars flickered overhead, their laughs were much too loud and their cheeks much too red. Dory had the feeling Rosmerta was enjoying herself thoroughly; she had been working all night, serving them their drinks and leaving them to have their fun. However, Dory was starting to get tired. It had been a rather long day.

"You lot do know that the train leaves early tomorrow morning, don't you?" she asked, placing herself on the edge of their table. "I don't want to be a spoilsport, but it's getting late."

"What time is it?" Remus asked.

"Almost twelve."

He frowned worriedly. "That is late."

"Time flies when you're having fun, eh?" said Sirius nonchalantly, giving the clock a rather careless glance.

"But wait, Rosmerta," interjected James, looking very serious, "I haven't told you that I'm spending the holidays with Lily yet."

Rosmerta's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "You are?" At James's excited nod, she tittered, "Oh, James, I think congratulations are in order! And they say persistence is a bad thing."

Dory blinked and yawned, pushing her full glass of Firewhiskey aside.

Sirius, who was seated opposite her, smiled. "The day's catching up with you?"

Lifting her head, she looked at him with sleepy, slightly unfocused, eyes. "Yeah," she murmured, rubbing her left cheek. It felt warm and tingled a little. "It's been a long day."

"We should go," said Remus. Dory noted amusedly that his cheeks were also red-hued. His words, however, were clear and well-articulated as he spoke, "Rosmerta's right, it's getting rather late."

With a shrug, Sirius said, "Killjoy."

"You'll thank me tomorrow," said Remus sagely.

"Yeah, yeah…" muttered Sirius before nudging James. "Prongs, we're going."

"…and to her Muggle sister's wedding – what?" James's head snapped up, the jolting movement knocking his glasses askew. "I'm almost ready, just a minute, all right?" He turned around to face a highly entertained Rosmerta again. "She's marrying this man – Vermin or something…"

The sound Dory made was something between a snort and a giggle.

"Look, James, why don't you tell me everything after the holidays?" Rosmerta interrupted him. "You might miss the train if you lot stay any longer." She stood up straight and eyed the pleasant aftermath of empty bottles and glasses that jumbled the table. "And you know what'll happen if you miss the train…"

James sighed. "All right, all right," he said, holding his hands up in surrender and getting to his feet. "You're right anyway."

"Prongs, you gullible prat." Sirius shook clapped James on the shoulder and shook his head in disappointment. Dory watched as they shared a look. Many emotions washed over their faces, and, after several quirked eyebrows, creased foreheads and narrowed eyes, they both smiled, apparently coming to an unspoken agreement. Then he said, "Okay, let's go, then."

Rosmerta and Dory led them across the room to the door.

"Are you going to be all right?" asked Rosmerta once they all stood on the cobblestone sidewalk outside the inn. "How are you going to get back to Hogwarts?"

"A Marauder never tells reveals his secrets, Rosmerta," tut-tutted James. "Don't worry, we'll be fine."

"I'm taking your word here, Potter," she said with a reluctant, somewhat guilty, smile. "Don't make me regret it."

James nodded solemnly. "I won't."

"Merry Christmas, then, this time for real," said Rosmerta. She saluted them with her fingers at her temple. "Are going coming, Dory?"

"Yeah…" replied Dory, her stomach twisting as she four boys assembled in front of her. She didn't know what to do next. Should she wave, like Rosmerta had done? Shake hands? Or would that be too much? At long last, she uttered, "Merry Christmas."

_Now, that wasn't too hard, was it? _

A yelp of shock escaped her mouth when she was pulled into a warm embrace. At first, she stiffened, frozen in shock, but then there was this scent – so unknown but so familiar at the same time – and she relaxed into her father's arms. The scent of babyhood. To Dory there was suddenly no one else, only her and James. She squeezed her eyes shut, determined to never forget this extraordinary moment.

"What was that for?" she breathed, opening her eyes and taking a small step back.

He lifted his shoulders. "I don't know… you remind me…" James shook his head, as though he wished to erase those words. "Merry Christmas."

"Make it the best Christmas of your life," Dory told him.

"I promise."

She waved the other three goodbye and watched them leave. A friendly arm made its way around her shoulders. Exhausted, she slumped against Rosmerta. She was crying, she realized. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried.

* * *

**A/N: I apologise for the delay – I've been in Paris for the past few weeks. FINALLY found a job. Sort of. Anyway, hope you liked this chapter, I'd love to know what you think. Again, thank you so much for the support and kind words. **

**Kisses! **


	13. Red and White

**Wallflower **

**Dorea Potter expected to finally catch a break, but then again, she never had much luck. Rosmerta, Horcrux hunting and subtle romance. timetravel. Marauders' Era. Slightly AU. Sirius/fem!Harry/Regulus love triangle**

* * *

**Red and White**

_Panic and sheer fright had tensed her every muscle. She didn't know where she was going, but she was running faster and faster. Her heart racing madly, she made a sudden turn to the right. There were trees everywhere; each tree just like the next – trunk, branches, leaves, trunk, branches, leaves. Where was she? _

_"Dorea… Potter…" _

_The voice seemed to ricochet through the forest, shattering the stillness. It grew louder, more intense, and the air thickened, growing almost solid. Despair crept up her spine and tingled at her neck. _

_"Dorea Potter," the cold, sibilant voice said softly, but it was so close, as though its owner was standing right behind her. Her heart hammered furiously against her chest. "The Girl Who Lived…"_

_She whirled around and reached into the pockets of her trousers for her wand. Her breath hitched. Her pockets were empty. _

_Cold air wafted against her cheek. Her stomach leaped as she peered through the trees into the endless gloom. No moving shadows, no figures, no footsteps. _

_"Potter… Potter…"_

_Defenceless and so vulnerable, she shot into the darkness, allowing her intuition to guide her. Her feet crunched loudly on the small twigs and stones – no, no, he would hear her! _

_"You've done terrible things, Dorea Potter… terrible, but great," the cruel voice whispered into her ear, like a passing breeze. It tugged at her fingers, then her wrist. Pulling. Then grabbing. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't – _

_"I know what you did," it continued, and, with a jump of terror, she realized it was coming from inside her. She couldn't flee, it was _her_. Underneath her skin, in the back of her head, everywhere, she felt desperation and she could feel the voice, seizing her, littering across her bones. She opened her mouth to scream, but her vocal cords were cut, her arms were heavy and weighted down and she couldn't move anymore…_

_"I won't let you forget it."_

Dory woke with sweat drenching her chest and her hands balled in fists, clutching the sheet over her head. She tasted the bile creeping its way into her throat. Holding her breath for a moment, she swallowed it and tried to keep her stomach from heaving.

A dream, it had been nothing but a dream.

"I know that," she replied aloud, relieved to hear the sound of her own voice. She spoke again, "I know."

Loosening her grip on the sheet, she tried to calm herself by taking deep breaths. A dream, a dream. But she knew that, even if she opened her eyes, the dream would still be there: it had woken up with her, clung to her head, her back, her shoulders. If she opened her eyes, there would still be darkness.

Dory inhaled again, but it was as though seawater was filling her lungs instead of air. Her eyelids felt heavy and her body drunk with sleep. She slowly uncurled herself, hearing her bones pop as she did so.

She gently kicked the sheet back and dropped her legs over the edge of the bed. Her feet tingled pleasantly when they met the woollen blanket that had fallen to the floor last night. Before she could stand up, however, a radiant and pink-cheeked Rosmerta came through the door.

"Merry Christmas!"

The cheerful tone pierced through the foggy haze of panic that clouded her mind. Another shuddering breath left her mouth.

"You, too," she replied, and cupped her mouth to cover up a yawn. She fluttered her eyes open and glanced at Rosmerta, who was suddenly looking at her with an expression of concern.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked. "You're looking a bit peaky."

"Couldn't wait for Christmas," said Dory. "I could hardly sleep."

"Me neither!" Rosmerta beamed. "Well, I reckon a nice, big breakfast will do us good, don't you think? I hope you like custard tart?"

"For breakfast?"

"Among other things," Rosmerta grinned as she made her way towards the door. "But first, presents! C'mon, get yourself freshened up, then we can go downstairs. It's almost six."

As soon as Rosmerta had left the room, Dory fell backwards and buried her face into her soggy pillow.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, rubbing her throbbing head in a futile attempt to numb the pain. The idea of custard tart at this hour left a unpleasant sticky taste in her mouth. From the pit of her stomach an unexpected, violent spasm of nausea rose up and seized her throat. She scrambled to the bathroom, knelt down in front of the toilet and started to vomit.

Wet-eyed and shivering, she hung her head over the toilet and gripped the bowl. The knot in her stomach contracted and expanded, again and again, until there was nothing left. She coughed as she finally flushed the toilet, feeling shaky and weak.

The air left her lungs in a rush of exhaustion.

Dory lifted herself from the floor, wiped her crackled lips with the back of her hand and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Frowning, she traced the dark circles under her eyes with her fingertips. Bits of hair loosen from the bun that's piled at the back of her head, hanging dry and limp at the sides of her ashen face.

Almost instinctively, she dropped her gaze. She scooped a handful of cold water and pressed it against her forehead. The ache inside her was diminishing, but it was still there, twisting in her stomach and making her heart thump so hard she could hear it pounding in her ears.

She rinsed her mouth and wiped her face with a fluffy white towel. Slowly shaking her head at the image in the mirror, the words played over and over in her mind – _You've done terrible things… _The image winced as Dory's shoulders shook.

"I'm not like him," she rasped and clutched the towel in her hands. "I'm not like him. I'm not."

Dory shuffled towards her room, grabbing a jumper as she did, and eased back down onto the bed. Robotically, she grabbed the miniaturized _Magick Moste Evile_, her wand, the Time-Turner and the diadem from under the pillow and stuffed them into her pocket – _…terrible things, terrible, but great… _

She was floating in space. Her form had dissipated, her body drifting in the void; somewhere across the thin line that separated nightmare from reality. Her sleep had ended, but the dreams lived on. They swelled into her world, blurred her vision, tainted her mind with their monstrous claws; and there was no escape.

There she sat, immobile, and at that moment, she wanted nothing more than a tight, warm hug from Molly Weasley – or, even better, James.

Her lips tilted upward at the memory. No, she wasn't like _him_. Voldemort hadn't been – wasn't, she corrected herself – capable of love. "Just a dream," she said, this time aloud. A worthless, crude dream. And yet the words didn't stop buzzing in her head – _I won't let you forget it…_

Shaking her head again, she rose from her bed and quietly made her way downstairs.

"There you are!" said Rosmerta, who was sitting cross-legged in front of a huge pile of presents. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I've already opened half my presents."

Dory waved her apology away. "What have you got so far?" Her voice sounded dry, gritty.

"Mostly sweets and mead," replied Rosmerta. "I haven't opened yours yet. Which one is it? Dear goodness, I can't even recognise your handwriting."

"The one with the silver wrap – Merlin, what's that?!"

A flash of black had shot through her legs, almost sweeping Dory off her feet. She buckled, closing her eyes in an attempt to abate the light-headedness. Taking a deep breath, she turned her head and opened her eyes.

She squinted slightly; the pub's lights were dim and it took her eyes a few moments to adjust. Leaning forward, she saw a small, black kitten playing with a crumpled up wad of wrapping paper.

"My present for you," Rosmerta announced, smiling warmly. She picked up the cat and tickled its head. "Poor cat, he is. He doesn't even have a name yet. Poor cat without a name, aren't you?" she cooed and the cat purred contentedly. "I didn't have any right to give him one, though. I had to wait until he belonged to someone, which he does, now."

"You got me a cat?" Dory asked. She surveyed the anonymous kitten in Rosmerta's hands, which stared back at her with big, yellow eyes. Then she deadpanned, "You got me a cat."

"Yes, here, take him."

Dory carefully took hold of the cat, dropped down opposite Rosmerta and sat the animal in her lap. "Hi there, nameless little slob," she murmured, scratching it behind its ear. "Thank you, Rosmerta. It's the best present I got this Christmas, and I haven't even opened my other presents yet. He's lovely – my present for you pales in comparison, I'm afraid."

"Let me be the judge of that, eh?" said Rosmerta. "The one with the silver wrappings, you said?"

"Yeah, here." Dory picked up the neatly-wrapped parcel and handed it to Rosmerta before turning to her own, rather small, heap of presents. For several moments, she could only stare at it, her heart clenching unpleasantly; she wouldn't receive a hand-knitted jumper from Mrs. Weasley this year, no dreadful socks or paintings from Dobby, not even an unkind throwaway from the Dursleys…

Dory sorted through her presents and found one that had _To Dory, from Sirius, Remus and Peter_ written across thick, Honeydukes-themed paper. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she tore off the wrappings, not the least bit surprised to find several large boxes of Honeydukes' Best Chocolate inside it.

"Dory?"

Rosmerta's voice brought her back to the moment. She turned to her friend; the cat in her lap mewed in protest. Rosmerta was sitting with the golden, open-toed high-heels Dory had bought for her clutched to her chest.

"Circe, they are _beautiful_!" she said, breathless. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She flung her arms around Dory, kissing her soundly on the cheek. "Now, open my present!"

"But – you got me the cat." Dory gestured to the cat, which, she decided, she would call Cat until she had come up with a proper name.

"Yeah, but he's going to be our Three Broomsticks-cat, isn't he? We're sharing him. I wanted to give you something personal as well," said Rosmerta. "Here, it's the one with the golden bow on it."

She grabbed a dark velvet box and handed it over to Dory. It was long and narrow, with a gilt ribbon tied in a fancy bow around it.

"You didn't have to…"

Rosmerta gave her a pointed look. "Nonsense. C'mon, open it."

"It's so pretty, I don't want to open it," she said. Nevertheless, Dory delicately untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. A gasp of air escaped her when she realized what it was. "Rosmerta, it's beautiful…"

Inside the box was a ivory-coloured hairbrush, stunning in its simplicity. The handle was decorated with a silver floral design and, when Dory turned it around, she saw her own reflection staring back at her in the mirror on the back.

"Well," said Rosmerta, looking chuffed with Dory's reaction, "you can't keep borrowing mine forever, right?"

Dory glanced back down at the brush in her hand. "This must've cost a fortune."

"Don't be ridiculous – it's Christmas. And you'd better take a hint, 'cause it looks as if someone's just thrown a Dungbomb in your hair, as per."

"I happen to be very proud of my hair," she sniffed while watching Cat push his head against the brush. "But thanks, I love it."

The next few minutes were filled with the sound of paper ripping and rustling – Dory couldn't suppress a smile upon seeing a bottle-shaped present from "William and Margaret Ross" and chuckled fondly while reading the nice Christmas card Oscar, Dolan and Dirk had sent her. Finally, she reached for a parcel that was neatly wrapped in brown paper. Dory frowned; it didn't have a name on it.

With great curiosity, she hefted the parcel and stared at it. Unwrapping the gift slowly and carefully so it wouldn't tear, she found a brand-new, bright-green copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages _inside. Her breath came in a sharp intake of air. She stroked her hand over the glassy cover and sleek spine, then swallowed – it couldn't be…

The book made a splitting sound when she opened it. The familiar lines of type jittered past her thumb as she let the pages fall. She closed it and flipped it over, her eyes raking over the blurb before snapping to the message that was scribbled messily in the corner.

_Dory, _

_I reckoned you'd like this. _

_Merry Christmas,_

_James_

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay?" said Rosmerta as they sat down for breakfast. "You look so pale."

"I'm fine." Seeing that Rosmerta's apprehensive look hadn't wavered, Dory added, "Really_, I'm fine_. Just feeling a bit under the weather. Is it all right if I skip the custard tart?"

Rosmerta nodded. "Of course that's all right. Tea, then?"

"That'd be great," said Dory with an appreciative smile. "Where's Herm by the way? He's usually got up by now."

"Just because he isn't here doesn't mean he isn't up yet," said Rosmerta while pouring Dory a large mug of tea. "Herm doesn't like Christmas very much…" She let out a sigh as she set the steaming mug in front of Dory. "Here it is. Milk, sugar?"

"Just milk, please."

Dory tucked her legs underneath herself and warily eyed the breakfast that was strewn across the table. Merely looking at the large slices of Christmas cake, the mountains of boiled potatoes and the thick pieces of chocolate trifle made her feel nauseated again.

"So," started Rosmerta as she took a sip from her pumpkin juice. "What gifts did you get? I know I saw a lot of chocolate."

"Cards," said Dory, pointing a spoon towards the large pile on the bar before she lowering it into her mug. "Loads of cards. Some from people I don't even know."

"Or don't remember," interjected Rosmerta. "I know what you mean. I've got a very nice perfume from a man named George Plumpton, though I have no idea who that is."

"Poor bloke," Dory said, sighing. "He'd probably be crushed if he knew that. A perfume's pretty fancy gift."

"It is – now, eat something. I didn't prepare all of this just so you could stare at it. D'you want a crumpet?" She took one herself and accepted the knife Dory offered her. "You know what they say: nothing goes so well with a frosty Christmas morning as buttered crumpets."

"Who said that?"

Rosmerta smiled around the edge of her crumpet and hummed contentedly. "There's no time for chit-chat when there are crumpets to be eaten."

Raising the tea to her mouth, Dory asked, "Do you have toast?" She inhaled deeply through her nose, savouring the fragrance of the liquid inside the mug. "I'm not that hungry yet."

She watched Rosmerta's finger gesture to a tray in front of her, on which toast, resting in a thick, melting shawl of butter, together with cakes, squatted on cushions of cream, were spread out. Her stomach rolled with horrific sickness and she quickly took a sip from her tea, letting it sooth the sharp ache inside her.

"Eat something, Dory. It'll do you good," Rosmerta said, pushing the tray forward.

Gingerly, Dory reached for a slice of toast and slid it onto her plate.

"So, what time did you get up?" she asked as she took a knife and slowly – very, very slowly – started to cut the toast into pieces. "This," – she motioned down to the plentiful breakfast with her free hand – "must've taken a lot of time to prepare."

"Three o'clock," replied Rosmerta with an enthusiasm that oughtn't have matched her words. "It doesn't matter, really. I couldn't sleep anyway. Not to mention it won't be very busy today; everybody's staying at home for Christmas."

Dory picked up a fork and jabbed at the toast. "What're your plans for today, then?"

"Actually," Rosmerta smiled, "I was just going to ask you that."

"What?"

"You know what day it is, don't you?" she queried as she helped herself to a muffin.

"Christmas Day, you mean?" said Dory, brows furrowing.

Rosmerta swallowed before replying, "No, it's _Sunday_." She cast Dory a significant look. "You always mysteriously disappear on Sunday mornings. Well, last week was an exception, but still… you know what I'm trying to say, don't you? It all sounds very… romantic."

The fork slipped between Dory's fingers. "_Romantic_?" she echoed, utterly perplexed. "Oh, no, no, far from it. You have no idea how wrong you are –"

"Then what _do _you do?" asked Rosmerta. "And don't tell me you like going for nice, long walks around the village. I'm not that thick."

"I wasn't going to say that," snapped Dory. "I can't give an answer to that question, Rosmerta. I'm sorry."

Frowning, Rosmerta finished the last of her muffin. Then she picked up another one, her eyes never leaving the little bread as she started coating it with a thick layer of marmalade and – Dory's stomach clenched again – very fatty, disgustingly yellow, extra-thick cream.

"Here."

Dory scowled at the small muffin that had been set on a plate in front of her. "I'm not hungry."

"Come on, Dory, eat something," Rosmerta said gently, pushing the plate forward. "I hate to say this, but you look miserable. You really need to get some colour in your face."

"I have colour in my face," said Dory while cupping her cheeks.

"Yes, green," prompted Rosmerta. "You're worried about something, obviously, and it's fine with me if you don't want to tell me what's going on, but don't take it out on me. It's not fair."

Dory's glare faded into a remorseful and apologetic one. "I know."

"I don't want to have this feeling," Rosmerta continued, "as though I have to watch everything I say when I'm talking to you. You can be so, well – unpredictable. One moment you're fine and dandy and then, _swoosh_, all of a sudden you're blazing fire like an angry dragon."

"I'm sorry," said Dory, her voice scratchy. "I know I should tell you. You tell me everything, too, but…"

"That's not what I'm saying," said Rosmerta quickly. A soft sigh of exasperation left her lips. "I'm saying that you should keep your temper in check. Or at least try. I'm quite sure Herm will appreciate it as well. Who knows? Maybe he'll even come to like you."

Dory snorted, "As if that's every going to happen." Crossing her arms, she gave Rosmerta a tight smile. "I'll try, okay? And to answer your question, no, I've haven't got any plans for today."

She did want to tell Rosmerta. Of course she did. But – _don't you dare to misuse me_. The words were tattooed on the inside of her mind. She couldn't. Their delicate friendship wasn't going to last forever, it was bound to reach a dead end. One day, no matter how cleverly she might shelter it, she would have to return to her own time. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps once she completed her task; it was an immutable destiny she wasn't able to alter.

"I haven't told anyone, if that helps," she said uneasily. "There are some things I need to do and…"

"It's all right," hushed Rosmerta and, looking at her, Dory saw nothing but sincerity and affection. "You don't have to tell me. I understand."

_But you don't_, she thought childishly. What was a friendship based on shades, secrets and imitations?

A hand, warm and soothing, covered hers. Dory slinked form under Rosmerta's displeased gaze, wanting nothing more than crawl back to her bedroom and hide herself under the sheets.

"But when you do need someone to talk to, know I'm here," said Rosmerta with a gentle squeeze of her hand. "Got that?"

"Got it," said Dory.

"Good, now that Hippogriff's out of the room, would you like me to refill your mug?"

Dory coughed, sitting up straighter. "Yes, please – So, what are you going to do about this George Plumpton?" she asked, trying to divert the conversation back to Rosmerta. "Reckon he comes walking in and asks you if you liked the perfume."

"I don't even know the bloke," chortled Rosmerta, and Dory couldn't help but feel relieved that the atmosphere had shifted back to a light-hearted one. "Are you saying I should give him a chance?"

"Why not?"

"I've got a lot of present from admirers," said Rosmerta, dropping some milk into the mug and pushing it towards Dory. "If I gave all of them a chance, people would think I'm a – a harlot or something."

Tucking a hair behind her ear, Dory murmured, "A scarlet woman, you mean?"

"Yes, well, _no_ – the point is that I'm not," said Rosmerta hurriedly, and Dory was surprised to see a slight flush colouring her cheeks. "I don't have time for a boyfriend anyway. It's busy enough as it is."

"How many love letters did you receive, then?" Dory asked, sipping her tea.

"I don't know, fifteen or so. I'm surprised you didn't get any, actually…" Rosmerta's penetrating eyes stared at Dory over the rim of her own mug. "I reckon you'll get more of them next year."

"I don't want a boyfriend either. Besides, we're cat ladies now." She nodded towards Cat, who had settled in the empty chair next to her. "We fit the profile, don't we?"

Rosmerta laughed. "It's a pity we're not old yet."

"I am eighteen," Dory told her earnestly. "That's not old. Twenty-eight, on the other hand…"

Drawing herself to full height, Rosmerta narrowed her eyes. "Are you calling me old, kid?"

"You're two years away from thirty," Dory continued. For a few sublime moments, she could feel the tension in her chest loosen and her heart soar. Rosmerta was so endearingly _uncomplicated_. "That's old, Grandma."

"I'll talk to you when you're twenty-eight," she laughed, twisting a blonde hair around her finger. "You'll be swallowing your words, trust me."

"But you'll be thirty-eight by then."

Rosmerta clicked her tongue in aggravation and rolled her eyes. "Fine," she huffed, but Dory could see her lips tug upward. "On the positive side, by the time we're both 'old'," She highlighted her mockery by mentioning quotation marks with her fingers, "no one can tell us we're too young to be cat ladies."

"I can't wait," said Dory, although her thoughts were elsewhere. _When you're twenty-eight_, she repeated silently. _1987_. A slight panic engulfed her already sore throat.

_"Where's my neffy poo?" Aunt Marge boomed. "Auntie Marge wants a big hug!"_

_She threw a fat arm around Dudley's equally fat neck and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. _

_"Well, well," she said boisterously. "Aren't you becoming a healthy-sized boy, Dudders? Yes, very healthy-sized, indeed. Just like your father."_

_"That, he is, Marge," agreed Uncle Vernon with a jovial grin. _

_Aunt Marge's grip on Dudley slackened. She turned to Dory then, fixing her with a daggered glare. "You!" she barked, thrusting her suitcase into Dory's stomach. "Carry my suitcase upstairs!"_

A loud mewl drifted through her ears, penetrating the opaque veil of memories she had slipped under. Dory almost dropped her mug and spat out her tea. She had been seven years old. Aunt Marge had turned up for Christmas – her abdomen twisted again when she realized that would be the Christmas exactly ten years after today – with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for Dory.

What would happen if she, Dorea Potter, met _herself_, the one that would be twenty-one years younger? What if she succeeded in destroying the Horcruxes, and thereby Voldemort, and the one-year-old Dorea grew up with both her parents? Would she even come that far?

_What if, what if? _

She shouldn't be thinking about this. No, she thought determinedly. Eventually, when she had killed Voldemort, she would go back to her own time – or perhaps she would disappear, for the future would have changed drastically.

The scary thing was that Dory didn't completely seem to mind that ominous thought. The idea of disappearing into the abyss that was death was almost comforting; a soothing hand on her shoulder and a friendly voice telling her she had done enough.

_"I've got to go back, haven't I?"_

_"That is up to you."_

_"I've got a choice?"_

She stared down at the mug, her bottom lip firmly wedged between her teeth. Wasn't this, _living_, what she had fought for all those years? Still, she felt her spine prickle with regret. What if she had chosen differently? The other path, the one that seemed so enticing at the moment. No, no, not path – train, she corrected herself with a bitter frown.

_"Oh, yes," Dumbledore smiled at her. "We are in King's Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to… let's say… board a train."_

_"And where would it take me?"_

_Dumbledore's answer was simple, "On."_

On.

She licked her lips, which had begun to bleed, and listened to the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her body was cold, it felt numb. All awareness of her surroundings came to a standstill. She used to care so much. Hermione and Ron and Ginny and Neville and –

_"I DON'T CARE!" Dory yelled at the portraits, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!"_

_"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Dory demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."_

She didn't have anyone here. No one who truly cared about _her_. Rosmerta had befriended a girl whom she thought she knew, but she had no idea who Dory really was. She liked the person Dory had created. However, there was another character, one that wasn't so bloody secretive and aloof, laying silently under the cool façade.

"Dory?"

It felt wrong, being here. She didn't belong here. She heard it every night in her dreams. It were whispers, curious sighs in the darkness of the forest. And every night, she prayed for forgetfulness, yet her memory remained strong. _You don't belong here, Dorea Potter_, a voice more frightening than pain would breathe.

"Dory? Are you all right?"

She remembered the excitement; the moment of utter happiness when she had become aware of her situation. Her parents, Sirius, Remus. An irresistible temptation within walking distance. But Dory was a mere stranger to them; a waitress at the Three Broomsticks, slightly different from Rosmerta because of her similarity to Dorea Potter née Black, but _just a girl _nonetheless.

She didn't fully understand why, but she felt dirty. Her heart rate increased and her stomach churned unpleasantly. _She didn't belong here_. The words replayed relentlessly through her psyche. And then there was that sentence: _because you've done terrible things_. It hit her with so much force they whipped the air from her lungs.

"Answer me, Dory!"

Feeling bereft and utterly lost, Dory swallowed, feeling her throat constrict as she did so. Horrible, acidic bile seeped into her taste buds and burned her tongue. No, not now. Not now! Her mug tumbled from her hands and clattered to the floor as she stood up hastily, frantically looking around. Her hand flew to her stomach, her ribcage expanded and contracted rapidly. _Thud-thud-thud-thud_, her heart went. It _hurt_.

Pushing past Rosmerta, who had also got to her feet, she hurried up the stairs.

"Did I say something wrong?" said Rosmerta breathlessly. She kept her hand on Dory's back as they hightailed to the bathroom. "Dory, what's wrong? You're scaring me –"

Ignoring Rosmerta's cries and pleas, Dory doubled over the toilet while her friend – who wasn't really her friend, a voice murmured in her ear – held her hair back. _Thud-thud-thud-thud_. Sharp pain lanced in her chest as Dory emptied the meagre contents of her stomach. And then _thud-thud, thud-thud_, _thud-thud_, her heart slowed and her breath came slow and deep.

"Oh, Dory," sighed Rosmerta, her hands smoothing out the messy locks. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Her fingertips pressed down onto the cold tiled floor as she tried to push herself up. Her breath seemed to shudder out of her and her eyes stung. "I don't know," she mumbled. A burning sensation began to spread to her nose, causing her vision to blur. "I really don't know."

"It's all right," Rosmerta said gently. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

Dory shook her head, eyes wide with wild panic. The throbbing in her ear worsened. "No," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "I've got to go – now."

"Are you mad?" Rosmerta shook her head with incredulous eyes and an agitated scowl. Dory glowered back fiercely. Rosmerta didn't understand. "Of course you're not."

"Don't tell me what to do," said Dory, her voice still raspy. "I'm eighteen."

Slowly but surely, she managed to get her feet. Her bones cricked in protest. She had been wasting so much time, she realized, wiping her face with a wet towel. The sooner she killed Voldemort, the better. She had been too lazy, but now there was this overwhelming desire to just_ disappear_. A longing she didn't quite understand. She had always yearned not to feel and now… perhaps it was time.

"What are you planning to do?" demanded Rosmerta. "You can't go outside, it's freezing!"

"You've just told me I don't need to tell you everything," said Dory. Her voice cracked at the last word, causing the chilly effect of her words to melt slightly. "I need to get dressed. Could you please leave?"

Her expression was stoic as she turned her head to look at Rosmerta, whose eyes momentarily flashed with hurt.

"All right," she said, her tone very blasé. "Suit yourself, then. I'm not your mother, I'm just your friend." With a deliberate shrug, she stepped backward, her hand, which had been rubbing Dory's back, dropping to her side. "Though I do feel the need to remind you it's Christmas Day. It'd be rather insensitive of you to leave, especially since you know how important Christmas is to _me_."

Out of sheer frustration, Dory fired the towel at the ground with all the strength she could muster. The thwack resonated around the bathroom. The two women stared at each other for a long, tension-filled moment before Rosmerta conceded. She turned gradually and walked away, never pausing her stride to look back at the aggravated girl she left behind.

Another mewl. Dory's glare dissolved into a small frown upon seeing Cat, who, apparently, had followed them upstairs. He sat directly in front of her, his two front feet graciously and neatly together.

"You've made your first trip up the stairs, haven't you? Clever Cat," she said. Her dry throat squeezed and she turned her head to cough into her hand. Tired, she slumped to the ground, drawing her legs up to sit against the wall. Cat seized his opportunity and wound himself around her legs. Smiling softly, Dory added, "I'll be back soon."

In half-aware state, she unbuttoned the pink pyjamas she had borrowed from Rosmerta, reached for the towel and started to wet her body. Her skin immediately began to cool down. Closing her eyes, she took as deep of a breath as her pained chest would allow. Of course Rosmerta wouldn't understand. Eventually, when everything would be over, she would be grateful and realize that all of this – the lies, the tantrums, the emotional distance – had been for the best.

"I'd better get going," she told Cat as she stood, completely dressed, in the doorway. "Wish me luck, Cat."

She had a Horcrux to find.

* * *

_She was standing in a country lane bordered by high, tangled hedgerows, beneath a summer sky as bright and blue as a forget-me-not_. A country lane. Dory clenched her eyes shut and recalled memory vividly.

_As they passed the wooden sign, she looked up at its two arms. The one pointing back the way had come read: Great Hangleton, 5 miles. The arm pointing after bespecled man, Ogden, said Little Hangleton, 1 mile. _The wooden sign, she repeated silently. _She had a view of a whole valley laid out in front of her. Dory could see a village nestled between two steep hills, its church and graveyard clearly visible_.

She could see the graveyard and the church, but something was wrong. Terror seized her throat – no, no, it seized everything. Her left arm, her arm! Something had gone terribly wrong. She felt the pain, like a frozen knife stuck in her arm.

Fruitlessly, she gasped for air. It felt as though her mouth had been stuffed full with dry cotton and the familiar iron bands tightened around her chest, pressing harder than ever; harder than they should have.

Concentrate! she thought, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood.

_Across the valley, set on the opposite hillside, was a handsome manor house surrounded by a wide expanse of velvety green lawn_. Just outside Little Hangleton, she repeated over and over again. She furled her damp fingers tightly around her wand. She had to carry on just a little longer. _A gap of a hedge… a small shack, its walls were mossy and so many tiles had fallen of the rood that the rafters were visible in places… tiny, thick-with-grime windows…_

She groaned, feeling the stabbing pain in her arm intensify; however, she was no longer able to hear it. Someone was screaming – a raging sound she hadn't heard in a very long time. A shot of pure fright shot up her backbone. What was happening?

_…she stared at the front door, on which somebody had nailed a dead snake… _

She landed on the ground with a dull thud. Taking deep and ragged breaths, she clutched her arm. The pain was so raw it was nauseating, rolling deep inside her with great swells. Her lips parted and she rolled over and curled back up, staining the untouched snow dark red as she did so. She gritted her teeth and raised her head, trying to distract herself from the pulsating ache that echoed up her entire arm.

Dory was struck cold by the sight that met her eyes.

An eerie graveyard – she had been here before. With Cedric and Wormtail and – no, oh no. The small church, the old house on the hillside…

Ringing filled her ears and she closed her eyes again, terrified to open them again.

_Dorea?_

Someone was screaming her name, but she couldn't – or wouldn't – hear it. She wanted the pain to stop, she wanted to sleep, she wanted to _disappear_.

"Dorea?"

A rough hand closed itself around her shoulder, making her groan in protest.

"Don't…" she rasped, eyelids fluttering open before sliding closed again in defeat.

"What are you doing here?" the voice said brusquely. "Answer me!"

Dory licked her chapped lips and attempted to push herself up, but her body seemed to be unable to accomplish such a feat. "What happened?"

"Keep still!" the person hissed. "It's me, Regulus!"

* * *

**A/N: So… sorry for the delay, again. I've decided on a last-minute move to London. I'm a Londoner now! Thank you for the sweet reviews/favs/alerts :) I love reading them and they amaze me every time. Sorry if I didn't get the chance to reply. I will later! Tell me what you think and send me love… or hate, depending on what you think. **

**Sorry for the horrid typos.**

**Kisses! **


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